


The Fifth Blight Book I: The Grey Wardens

by Nardhwen



Series: The Fifth Blight [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Complete, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fantasy, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 121,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24581140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nardhwen/pseuds/Nardhwen
Summary: When Everil Cousland loses her family, she is forced to join a fabled order of warriors to fight against an evil threatening to destroy everything they know. But death and betrayal strike during a decisive battle, leaving them without a king and in a country torn by war. Now the young Grey Warden must set out on a long journey to gather allies and mend a broken nation. Review pls.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age)
Series: The Fifth Blight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777012
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. This is a retelling of the story from the Human Noble origin, but it is not a word for word retelling. I took some liberties modifying the story to suit my needs and adapt some historical accuracy. Please drop me a review if you like it :). No flames please, aside from constructive criticism.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or its characters. This is fanwork and is meant only for fun.

  
  


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_T_ _he Chantry tells us of an age_ when the Tevinter Imperium wielded its magical powers to rule over every man. They enslaved the entire world of Thedas through cruelty and fear, using their gift to force all land, beast, and fellow men to bend a knee under their rule. It was during these dark times that powerful mages—the Magisters of the Imperium—grew weary of their mortality, seeking to become divine themselves, they turned their magic to the very heavens. And for the first time, man set foot upon the Golden City, the realm of the Maker. A place where no mortal creature was ever meant to enter, and where they sought to take the seat of their creator.

Their greed and pride corrupted that which was once been pure, turning the city black. Enraged, the Maker cursed them, turning them into terrible creatures. Reflections of their own tainted souls. Then He cast them down into the depths of the world, where they would live in eternal darkness. Far from the warmth of His light. 

They were the first darkspawn. Soulless, twisted vessels who relish in the destruction of all the Maker’s creation. 

Possessed by their own taint, the creatures found and claimed an Old God as their leader. An ancient being once imprisoned by the Maker for luring man away from His love. Their taint corrupted the Old God, awakening it from its slumber, transforming it into a monster of unfathomable evil. An Archdemon.

It gathered the darkspawn forces under its command, pulling upon their taint and drawing more and more to its terrifying call. The Archdemon's armies swarmed the deepest, darkest trenches, building over centuries until it unleashed their wrath upon the world. And at that moment, the first Blight was born.

The darkspawn horde first invaded the dwarven kingdom. And in spite of its immense military strength, the underground empire nearly fell. The Blight then broke through the ground and towards the surface, spreading over Thedas like a plague. The darkspawn tainted all they touched. They massacred everything in their wake—men, women, and children—without mercy. Villages and towns were relentlessly destroyed. And the Blight continued to spread, driving humanity to the verge of annihilation. It all seemed lost. 

Until from fields of blood and death, the mighty Grey Wardens emerged. They soared on majestic griffons, clad in shining armor, on a quest to save what remained of a ruined world. Dwarves, elves, mages, and man. Kings and farmers, knights, and clerics. Grey Wardens came from all walks of life, united as one, sacrificing all to fight back against the Archdemon’s forces and bringing an end to the First Blight.

Over centuries, the darkspawn would taint another Old God slumbering in the deep, bringing forth a new Blight four times over. Each time, the Grey Wardens were there to defeat it, carrying with them both duty and curse in an endless battle against evil. They stood vigilant in the darkness. Quiet sentinels, protecting man from the darkspawn and keeping watch for the next Blight. But as the years passed and men changed, the Grey Wanden’s sacrifice was eventually forgotten. Along with the looming threat of another Blight. 

And as fate demanded, it was time for humanity to remember once more.


	2. The Lady of Highever

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_B_ _lood splattered the cold ground_ , painting it red as a terrified scream cut the silence. A man fell and cowered over the dirt. A grizzly gash splitting open his gut as innards spilled out from within. A miserable whimper escaped him as the dark shape of a monster stepped over him. Its reflection upon his petrified stare. The creature leaned over him with its twisted, jagged blade. And the man let out a drowning wail as his throat was slit. It cackled. Soulless grey eyes admiring its work as blood pooled beneath its victim's corpse. 

It was a work of art. A gift for its god, and soon, a new meal for it.

The monster continued to laugh, rising to its feet. A sword silenced it, bursting through its chest. It looked down at the blade dripping with its blood. Its permanent grin and blank stare unchanged despite its agony. Then, a long dagger came over its shoulder. It slashed across its neck, swift and deep, cutting open its ashen flesh. The monster gargled, reaching for its gushing wound as it fell on one side, revealing a dark, rugged knight. The man’s brown gaze was as sharp as his blades, his bearded face worn from years of countless battles.

Duncan's steel scale hauberk rattled as he took a knee, the back of it long as a bird’s tails. Beneath the heavy metal, he wore a sapphire blue, long-sleeved gambeson. And over the cloth armor, steel pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves. With a swift yank, he tore the same rag from the corpse and rose, bringing it up to wipe red splatters sullying the regal symbol on his steel breastplate. They were two regal griffons, back to back, with open beaks as if in a quiet cry, each spreading one wing to the east and to the west. 

It was the emblem of a legendary order. Warriors he commanded within the borders of Ferelden’s kingdom. 

The Grey Wardens. 

The quality of his weapons and armor rivaled that of the knights serving under nobility. Set apart by the shade of blue few could afford to wear. All funded through centuries of protecting humanity from the very creature he slew. Creatures only he and his men could truly defeat and no one else dared to willfully face.

“Damn it… We were too late,” uttered a young man standing a distance behind him, wielding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He was glaring down at another monster lying dead at his feet, drops of its blood marring his fair features and staining his short, dirty-blond hair. He was barely in his twenties, clad in similar gear and with a matching griffon on his breastplate and shield, yet lacking the tails on his commander’s armor.

With a scowl, Duncan surveyed the surrounding carnage, taking in the details. Wagons lay toppled over, the contents scattered about, mixing with the blood and gore of both travelers and cattle. The breeze blew over their remains. The only movement being the rustling clothes and hair as an eerie silence fell over them.

He turned to see past the cliff by the road, gaze narrowed as the scent of death filled his nose. “I’m afraid the worst is yet to come, Alistair.”

Frowning at his words, Alistair sheathed his sword at the hip and slowly went to stand beside his mentor. His hazel-brown eyes widened at what they saw over the edge overlooking the woods below. More of the same creatures stalked the land in a seemingly endless swarm, weaving their way through the trees like a plague of locusts. Ominous clouds rolled after them, crackling with red lighting as they crawled over the horizon and all vegetation in their wake withered and died. 

“Maker… There's so many of them,” he breathed and shifted a fearful stare to Duncan. “This is it, isn't it? This is really a Blight.”

Duncan’s jaw set and he spun about to walk back towards the road. “Come. We have no time to waste.”

“Right…” Alistair started after him, a crease remaining on his brow. 

Pausing, the Warden-Commander glanced at him, then returned to their path ahead. He continued to walk, steadfast in his steps, knowing that the coming days would forever change his charge’s life, as well as that of everyone in Ferelden. _Maker help us all..._

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Stories of their ongoing fight against the darkspawn reached Highever several weeks ago after they gave the news of the Blight to the king of Ferelden. Yet, the people of Highever didn't seem worried by the danger stalking from the south. Instead, Teyrn Bryce Cousland’s upcoming tourney was all they talked about.

The town around Highever Castle was almost half the size of Ferelden’s capital city. Which was the largest in the country. Quaint, wooden huts and shops stood at every corner. Plumes of smoke rising from their chimneys. The scent of burning wood and cooking meals permeated the air, mixing with the smell of cattle and horses the breeze carried as it blew over them from the farmlands. 

Townsfolk filled the dirt roads. Some were merchants, hurrying to set up their stores, a few dragging carts in a haste. The rest of the villagers rushed to the arena, excited smiles over dirt-covered faces. 

Alistair dodged people as he walked with Duncan, who seemed completely unaffected by the crowd. He visited many places with him over the past few months, but only here did he appear to fit right in. Someone shoved him as they ran past him, earning an annoyed glare out of him. “Geez, not even an apology… I thought they’d be as nice and polite as you are, Duncan.”

He smiled. “Highever’s common folk can have a certain level of character. Don’t take it personal.”

“Why are they even this excited? Are these people not scared? I mean, it's not as if there's an army of monsters currently threatening everything and everyone they know...”

“Unfortunately, most don’t believe this is a true Blight.” Duncan turned sideways to avoid another running citizen. “It has been centuries since the last. And we killed so many darkspawn then, most assumed we defeated them for good. This in addition to the spreading rumors of the king’s success against them in the south.”

“I don’t know if I would call that success. Every time we kill the bastards, more sprout up from the ground. Like weeds! Though I find those a lot easier to look at.” Alistair paused as a grin spread over his lips. “You know, darkspawn should consider wearing daisies over their heads. It would help draw attention away from their ugly mugs.”

Duncan let out a rare chuckle, shaking his head. “Perhaps you can make the suggestion once we return to Ostagar.”

“Yeah, maybe...” Alistair’s smile faded. “Hey, Duncan… I’ve been meaning to ask...”

“Yes?”

“I thought it only took one Grey Warden to do the recruiting. Why couldn't I stay behind with the others?”

“The tourney will help us find the last of the new recruits we need for the upcoming battle. It will be good experience for you, should you need to recruit others in the future.” He gave his shoulder a firm pat. “Be patient, Alistair. You will be back on the battlefield soon enough.”

“Sure…” he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “All right...” 

As they neared an alley, a merchant bumped into Alistair from behind, causing him to miss a step and stumble with a curse. At the same time, a blur of grey clothes slammed onto his side at an angle, bouncing off of him and dropping to the ground. 

The hooded figure landed on their rear before him, letting out a feminine ‘oomph’ and a quiet curse of their own.

“Hey!” he called with concern, immediately taking a knee to place a hand on their shoulder. “Are you—” 

She looked up at him, and what he saw underneath that hood took his breath away.

Eyes the color of the sky locked with his, her surprise showing over them as the woman also seemed to pause. Loose strands of chestnut hair framed an almond-shaped face, accentuating porcelain skin that held not a single blemish. Full, soft-pink lips parted as she panted for breath. Cheeks flushed and brow sweating from her running. 

Whoever she was, he’d never seen a girl as pretty as her.

Numbly, he offered her his hand, still stunned into silence as he stared. Her gloved fingers came to rest on his palm and she allowed him to pull her up to her feet. 

“Thank you, ser...” She promptly adjusted her hood before his companion could see her features too. “My apologies.” She gave a curt bow and whirled around to dash in the same direction in which they headed. 

He mutely watched her disappear into the crowd, rooted to the spot. Then, a firm hand came to rest on his shoulder. “You should close your mouth now, Alistair. Lest a fly make its way in.”

“Uh…” He snapped out of his daze and shut his mouth, a slight blush rising to his ivory cheeks. “Right… Sorry.”

Duncan put on an amused smile and resumed their walk, shaking his head. “Come. The tourney is about to begin.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Highever’s arena was modest. Lined with flags of various colors as they flapped in the gentle afternoon breeze. Stands stood at two sides of the dirt field at the center. Filled with townsfolk dressed in thick robes or tunics. The younger ladies wore their best garments, aiming to woo the strapping knights who would soon battle each other for the teyrn’s favor. Others were families seeking a bit of action. A few of the men covered in mud from having worked in the fields that morning. 

Teyrn Bryce Cousland sat with his family in an elevated balcony, at the far end of the field. Grey hair combed back, while he wore a fine purple tunic and dark-colored breeches. His wife, Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, sat to his left, wearing a silk dress the color of blue ice, long white hair tied up in an elaborate braid. His son wore maroon silks, brown hair combed to one side as he sat on a smaller chair at his father's right hand. A redheaded woman, who wore a dress of the same colors also accompanied him. And near them stood a child also in a fine dark green tunic as he excitedly stared out into the arena. 

They were the rulers of the Highever teyrnir and second in class only to the king of Ferelden himself.

Alistair looked away from the noble family and took in the surrounding view. Next to him, Duncan observed their surroundings, arms crossed. They sat closest to the field and near the teyrn and his family. Seats usually reserved for honored guests.

After a few moments, the townsfolk stopped filtering in, filling every seat. The teyrn stood, raising his hand to the crowd to silence them. “Welcome to the tourney!” he greeted in a booming voice. “Today we not only celebrate our king’s victories against the darkspawn in the south. But we also prove our strength and courage in battle! The winner of this tourney will be declared Champion of Highever! And carry with them our name throughout the kingdom!”

The people cheered, pumping their fists into the air as they waited for their lord to make the last call. 

“Let the festivities begin!” 

More cheers followed, filling the arena with noise.

Alistair gave Duncan an odd look, speaking quietly, “Isn’t it a little early to celebrate like this?”

“These are the families of the men who will march with him tomorrow. He is using the rumors of our success against the darkspawn to keep them at ease before heading for battle.” Duncan turned sharp, brown eyes towards him. “Remember… A good leader always keeps morale up, even when the future is uncertain.”

The euphoria died down when an old man sauntered into the arena, carrying with him a scroll. He came to a stop at the foot of the teyrn’s balcony and unraveled it. His voice was thick with age but strong as it boomed over the would-be battlefield. 

“From the Storm Coast to the north comes Ser Doren Fhal! And from Denerim, once serving the crown itself, Ser Yule Sharpe!” 

Two muscular men stepped in from the sidelines as spectators cheered. One of them carried a claymore, while the other sported an axe and a shield. They measured each other up for a moment, the noise growing silent as everyone watched. A horn blew, and they swung, their weapons clashing along with their battle cries. 

The brawniest men Alistair ever saw fought in the three matches that followed. And despite being well-built himself, watching these behemoths made him feel rather small. Metal clashed against metal as their weapons met. Blood and sweat dripping over the ground as some landed hits on faces, armors or shields. All were intent on proving their might before their adoring spectators. Their determination was almost admirable. 

Duncan observed the fights with interest but was still unimpressed. To him, they were more of the same—men pounding their chests with no skills to show for it.

Until the next match came.

The arena quieted down once more as the breeze picked up the flags, making them flap a little louder. The last two men left the arena, one holding on to an injury.

“For the next match!” The old announcer lifted the scroll once more, his voice commanding their attention. “He hails from the vast farmlands of Lothering! I present to you, Ser Hadrick Gilbern!”

An armored man with a long, red beard walked out on confident steps, resting a massive great axe over one shoulder. He roared, throwing a fist to the sky as the townsfolk cheered, hungry for more action.

“And from our very own Highever!” The old man paused, raising a bushy brow. “Lady Elissa!”

All went quiet as a hooded woman made her way to the center of the arena, her posture exuding confidence and pride. Her dark gray cloak flowed with the wind, making it flap and float around a lithe form. She made no gestures for applause, and the spectators seemed unsure from the start. Fereldan women could bear arms. But many still thought them incapable of the same feats of strength and skill as men. To the spectators, this match would be but a waste of time.

“Hey… I think that’s the girl from before,” Alistair whispered with a hint of surprise. “No wonder she was in such a hurry… Seems she almost missed it.” 

“Hrm...” Duncan grunted in agreement, eyeing the woman. 

He took notice of the sword and dagger at her hips. A rogue’s choice of weapons, which meant she would be the agile sort. Hard leather armor clung to her hourglass figure, showing the delicate shape of a feminine body. Yet it was clear she was no wallflower. Toned muscles lay under gray leggings and a fitted, long-sleeved tunic displayed the strength of her arms. Still, although she appeared capable, her opponent was larger than her.

The burly man’s rumbling laughter disrupted the silence. And he directed a sadistic smirk towards the old announcer. “Is this a joke? This is my next opponent?”

“Yes, Ser Hadrick. We do not keep women from participating.”

“All right then.” Hadrick gazed towards her, smile hardening into a glare as he bent the knees and prepared his axe. “I don’t much enjoy hurting women, so just go down easy and I’ll spare ye the pain, lassie.”

She said nothing, drawing her weapons in two fluid motions. 

“Ugh… I can’t look.” Alistair winced, trying to tear his eyes away from the scene below. 

Duncan watched with quiet interest as the horn again signaled the start of the match. 

With a cry, Hadrick moved in first, fast despite the weight of his steel plate armor. He swung his axe sideways, prompting a gasp from the onlookers. 

Elissa huffed as she ducked and rolled, dodging the attack. She sidestepped, circling her opponent as a cat would its prey. 

He gave her an irritated glare but went along with it, gripping the axe with both hands, adjusting it for another swing. 

The Grey Wardens observed as she continued to measure her adversary. Waiting for his next attack.

Hadrick grew impatient with the pacing and charged, letting out a roaring battle cry. He swung upwards at her as she jumped back and avoided the hit. He brought down the axe, hitting the spot where she once stood. He plucked his weapon from the ground with a frustrated growl and slashed left only to hit air once more.

It seemed she was mocking him.

“Isn't she goin' to fight back? This is gettin' old,” someone shouted from the stands.

Duncan analyzed her every move while running a hand down his thick, black beard.

“Fight, woman!” Hadrick snapped, huffing as he swung, only to miss once more. “I said fight!” He attacked again.

This time she blocked with both of her blades, the weight of the blow making her slide back two feet.

The masses finally cheered.

“Die, wench!” He kept striking, over and over, drawing energy from the crowd. But each hit was blocked or deflected in thundering clashes. He got slower the more he hit, but the man was too focused on defeating her to notice or care.

After blocking a few more hits, Elissa moved, fluid like water, dodging one of his attacks while slicing his arm open with her dagger. He screamed and his axe dropped to the ground, he panicked and swung his other arm to punch. She slid under it and slithered around him, pivoting on one foot and turning to face his back. And in the blink of an eye, her dagger was at his neck while she held onto him from behind. 

The audience gasped and everything went silent.

Hadrick froze in place when the icy steel of her blade pressed against his beating jugular. He gulped, and a bead of sweat slid down his brow. The fight was over.

“Woah…” Alistair breathed out in disbelief while those around them erupted into applause. 

A corner of Duncan’s lips curled up. “Defeating a foe larger than herself by turning their brute strength against them. Wearing them out. Well done.”

The matches that followed were against men with past victories. And they ended in the same fashion—with her blades mere inches from slitting their throats. Elissa was fast and precise, well trained on the skills of a rogue. She was able to break through the opposition, gaining the support of those in the stands. And soon they were at the last match, with all the prior warriors defeated by her and the next contender.

“Welcome to the last match!” The old announcer’s voice boomed once again. “The winner will be the victor of the tourney and thus earn the title of Champion of Highever!” 

More cheers and eager claps filled their ears.

“Please welcome! The winners of the prior battles! Ser Gilmore of Highever!” The old man gestured towards one side of the arena.

Whistles and cries erupted, and some women screamed with glee. The strapping, red-headed boy waved to them, a shield in one hand and a sword in the other. He wore copper chainmail armor and a black gambeson underneath.

“And Lady Elissa of Highever!”

She stepped forth from the opposite side, weapons at the ready. 

Ser Gilmore, who served under the teyrn himself, bowed to her, a small smile on his lips. “May the best warrior win, my lady.” 

Elissa responded with only a subtle tilt of her head. 

Another horn signaled the start of the match.

Without warning, she kicked forth first, charging at full sprint. Gilmore had little time to raise his sword and block. His eyes went wide, shocked by her sudden burst of movement. Before, she'd taken her time defeating her opponents. Now she seemed intent on bringing a swift end to their match.

Withdrawing her arms, she spun and forced him to block with his shield. The tip of her dagger slid over the polished steel surface, sending sparks flying. Ser Gilmore clenched his teeth and swung with it, slamming it against her chest and pushing her off of him. He slashed at her as she stumbled back, barely missing her middle. She hopped back, putting distance between them, then paused her movements, dropping into a stance once more.

They stared at each other for a fleeting minute. Gilmore narrowed his eyes and discarded the shield, changing his posture to hold the blade with both hands. 

“He knows he will have to compensate for his lack of speed against her,” Duncan said. More to himself than his companion. “He will focus on his offense to make up the difference. Very good.”

Elissa slid lower, switching the position of her dagger to face backward, pommel facing him. The new stance was for increased defense and more power at short range. While her sword kept its reach.

His brows went up. “She knows this…”

Meanwhile, Alistair gazed at him in silent wonder. It was hard to gain the Warden Commander’s attention but impressing him was far more so. Yet Duncan held conflict in his usually decisive eyes. He was having a hard time figuring out which of the two fighters was suited to be a Grey Warden—if not both.

The match soon increased in speed. Their roars and the impact of their blades resonating through the arena. Elissa was finding this man more difficult to fight than the previous ones, driven to dodge often and strike urgently.

Clenching her teeth, Elissa stepped back, and he swung. She crouched, dodging the hit. Gilmore followed through after the swing, turning on one foot and going low with a kick to the ankles. It tripped her, and she fell hard on her back before he brought the blade down upon her. With a gasp, she rolled to the side as the sword stabbed through her cloak, tearing away her cover.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and backed away, exposed for all to see.

Everyone except the Wardens gasped at what they saw.

“M-My…” Ser Gilmore stammered as he gazed up, all color draining from his face. “My lady!”

A horrified teyrna stood from her seat, shouting at her. “Everil!” 

Everil panted for breath while giving all a determined smirk. Unfazed by the dirt and sweat clinging to her waist-long hair and by the anger in her mother’s eyes. 

Puzzled, Alistair looked to his mentor. “I take it they know her…?”

“They should,” Duncan answered, his tone carrying a hint of disappointment. “She’s the teyrn’s daughter. Lady Everil Cousland.” 

His brows went up and he blinked. “Oh…”

Teyrn Bryce took his wife’s hand, giving her a reassuring smile while also urging her to sit. He stood, the mere action silencing the whispers from the stands. “Proceed with the match!”

Gilmore’s head snapped towards him. “But, your Lordship!”

“Come now, Ser Gilmore. Chivalry is hardly necessary at this point, don’t you think?” Everil teased, the elegant smirk still upon her lips. “Besides, you owe me a rematch. Especially after shamelessly cheating your way into victory the last time we sparred.”

“Hmph… I suppose I do,” he answered and moved to face her, bowing his head. “My apologies, my lady. I just didn't expect you to join in the festivities. Especially considering your parents expressly forbid you from doing so.” 

“Yes, I admit to hearing such orders. But while I'm mostly a dutiful daughter, I'm also a woman of free will.” She lowered herself into a fighting stance. “And right now, my will is to win this tourney!”

“We will see about that!” he cried out and rushed forth, closing the distance, only to have his attack blocked. He brought up his blade and swung. She leaned back, his attack missing her completely. With a roar, she pivoted and struck. Using her weight to compensate for strength as the pommel of her dagger met his ribs. Gilmore grunted in pain and avoided a slash. His arm came around in a sweeping arch, leading with the sword's hilt. She crouched as the pommel missed her, bolted forth, and slashed with her blades. 

Up, down, side-to-side—he gritted his teeth while blocking every attack. He leaned sideways, avoiding a blade swooshing inches from his cheek. 

For a split second, her middle lay exposed, so he brought his leg up, kicking her square on the stomach. The hit knocked the air out of her, sending her to the ground. And while others would have checked on their lord’s daughter, he instead took the opportunity, moving in to claim the victory. 

But Everil kicked up, both feet connecting with his chest and knocking him back with a grunt. She got on her feet and charged, clashing blades with him once more as he deflected the hits. She ducked and leaned, avoiding a sideway slash before darting at him. In one quick movement, her arm was about his neck, and her leg hooked around his calf, pilfering his balance and slamming to the ground. 

Before he knew it, she was on top of him, her blade touching his throat. Gilmore’s chest heaved, surprise melting into a smirk as he watched her lean down to stare him in the eyes.

“I win…” Everil whispered, lips spreading into a wide smile.

The crowd roared, rising from their seats. Her family also stood, clapping to her victory.

As the two fighters helped each other up, the old man approached them, taking Everil’s hand to lift her arm for all to see. “The winner of this year’s tourney! Lady Everil Cousland of Highever!” More cheers filled the arena as both warriors shook forearms, grinning at each other. 

The noise grew silent when the teyrn spoke, casting a warm smile upon her. “Well done, my child!” Bryce called out, loud enough for all to hear. “While this may have been quite the unexpected turn of events, your display of skill proves you are ready! Ready for the task I am about to bestow upon you!”

He turned wise eyes towards those in the stands, raising a hand. “People of Highever! As you all know, my eldest son and I will join the king in the battle against the darkspawn in the south! Good soldiers—your sons, husbands, and fathers— will march with us to answer the king's call to arms!” 

Bryce looked about the arena at his subjects, who listened to his words. “I understand no assurances will keep you from fretting over those you love but know you will be left in good hands!” He gestured towards Everil with an open hand. “With her strength and compassion, my daughter earned your trust throughout the years! And so has she earned mine! Thus, I have decided that she will remain here to take my place until my return!”

Everil’s eyes went wide. “What…?”

The townsfolk clapped and cheered, smiles on their faces. “Hail Teyrn Cousland! Hail Lady Everil!”

“Thank you!” Bryce waved at them. “Enjoy the festivities!”

And while her family carried smiles on their faces, Everil’s held only disappointment.


	3. Family

  
  


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_T_ _eyrn Bryce and Teyrna Eleanor stood_ in the spacious main hall of Highever castle. Next to the grand fireplace filling the chamber with its warmth. Steel sets of armor lined the icy walls, while above them hung portraits of the teyrn and his family. Banners of two green willow branches meeting at the stems swayed. They were the Cousland heraldry, moved by the breeze flowing from the windows, their rich indigo blue brightening with the flicker of torches. 

A nobleman stood before them, clad in a purple tunic trimmed in gold. Short, white hair slicked to one side.

“You're saying your men are delayed?” Bryce cast an incredulous stare upon his long-time friend. 

“But you were to set out together. Being late to the king's call for aid is unacceptable,” Eleanor chided in disapproval.

The arl bowed his head at the two, a hand over his chest. “I am terribly sorry, my lord and lady. I fear this is entirely my fault.” 

Arl Rendon Howe was a man of cool mannerisms and few warm words. His hawkish features rarely showed emotions, aside from the arrogance he often displayed. Yet Bryce held him in high regard, having fought many battles alongside him, most thirty years ago, during Ferelden's rebellion against a tyrant who once usurped their country’s throne.

“No, no. It's quite all right. This war against the darkspawn has us all scrambling,” Bryce assured him, hands clasped at his back. “I will send my son with my men ahead of me. You and I can ride to battle first thing in the morning, just like the old days.”

“Yes…” Howe held a shadow of a smile, barely visible. “Only then we fought against Orlesians, not monsters.”

“At least the smell will be the same,” he chuckled.

“Maker, I cannot stand wars…” Eleanor reached for her husband's hand, lightly squeezing it. “My stomach is twisted into knots over you and Fergus leaving.”

“I know…” He brought her knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. “But do not worry, love. We will be back before you know it.” 

His words, however, didn’t do much to ease her fears.

The clanking of armor interrupted their conversation. One of their soldiers made the long way through the hall, stopping a few steps before them. He bent at the waist. “Your Lordship, the guest you expected has arrived.”

Bryce gave him a nod. “Good. Show him in, please.”

They watched the guard head back to the gates, opening them and allowing entrance to the two Grey Wardens. After a curt bow, their escort led them across the room and towards the castle’s lord. While Bryce awaited them with a wide, friendly smile.

“Duncan! Good to see you again,” he greeted while approaching them, reaching out to shake his forearm.

“It is always an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland. It has been some time.” Duncan respectfully shook his arm as all warriors did, then nodded to the teyrna. “Your Ladyship.”

Stiffly, she returned the gesture.

“And who is this young man?” asked Bryce, directing a smile towards his charge. 

Duncan placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This is my apprentice. Alistair. He is accompanying me on my travels.”

“A pleasure, your Grace,” Alistair paid his respects with a fist to the chest. 

“Grey Wardens?” Howe uttered, giving the newcomers a surprised stare. “How... unexpected.”

“They arrived on short notice. Is there a problem?” the teyrn questioned, an eyebrow raised.

Howe elegantly rested a hand at his back and lifted his nose. “Of course not, old friend. But guests of this stature demand certain protocol. I am… at a disadvantage.” 

“It is true that we don't frequently have the pleasure of seeing them in person. However, Duncan is a hero and a friend. He is always welcome here.”

The elder Warden respectfully bowed his head. “Thank you, my lord.” 

Bryce faced him once more. “At any rate, I—”

“Father dear!” Everil called, a hint of indignation in her voice. She entered the hall through one of the two doors at the sides, out of her armor and clean of dirt. Dark hair bobbed with her strides as she held up the skirts of a purple velvet dress, approaching them while glaring lightly at the teyrn. “I can't believe you would choose to leave me behind like this. You said I was ready to help you in battle!”

“I have already made my decision, pup. You are needed here,” her father asserted.

“But, I—”

“Darling, mind your manners,” Eleanor scolded gently and gestured to the others present. “We have guests.”

Everil released a huff before first noticing Howe standing nearby. “Hello, Arl Howe. It's good to see you again.”

“And you, child. You have grown into a lovely young woman,” he complimented with a subtle nod, unsmiling. “In fact, my son has been asking after you since he last saw you at the king's banquet.” 

“Ah, yes. Thomas,” she uttered wryly, recalling how the man followed her the entire eve staring at her bosom. “I remember him…”

“Perhaps I shall bring him with me next time. Let the two of you catch up.”

Hiding her irritation, Everil forced a smile and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “I'm sorry, ser. But I’m not seeking an arranged marriage, nor am I interested in your son.”

The astonishment on the arl's smug face made Alistair stifle a chuckle, only to let out a yelp when Duncan discreetly elbowed his side.

Bryce shook his head and gave Howe a hopeless smile. “You see what I contend with here? You can't tell my fierce girl anything these days, Maker bless her heart.”

“Yes. She is a bold one, indeed…” Howe replied, unamused.

Ignoring their comments, Everil regarded the other two guests. She blinked in slight surprise. “Oh… It's you.”

Bryce sent her a quizzical look. “Pup, you have already met the Grey Wardens?”

“Not formally, no.” She strolled towards her father and smiled pointedly at the younger one, placing a hand at her hip. “I did happen to run into one of them earlier, however.” 

“Heh…” Alistair chortled, nervously scratching the back of his head. “You could say that.”

“Then allow me to introduce you.” Bryce gestured towards the elder one. “This is Duncan, the Warden-Commander of Ferelden.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” He inclined his head before motioning towards his companion. “This is Alistair. My newest apprentice.”

“Uhm…” He cleared his throat and bowed, again with a fist to his chest. “Pleased to meet you, my lady.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Everil offered him a friendly grin, fiddling with the golden charm hanging from her neck. “Welcome to Highever.”

He awkwardly returned the smile. “Thanks.”

“I was watching from the stands earlier,” said Duncan, drawing her gaze to him. “I must say, your skills are substantial.” 

“Thank you, ser.” She dipped her head. “Now, if only I could use them to fight alongside my brother and father…”

“Everil…” Eleanor warned gently.

“I know...” She released a disappointed breath, clasping both hands over her dress. “Not to worry, Mother. Despite my displeasure towards the decision, I will do as Father says.” 

“That's what I like to hear.” Bryce smiled, tipping her chin with a curled index finger. “With our soldiers gone, only a token forces will remain to protect the castle. And we must keep the peace in the region. You know what they say happens when the cat is away, yes?”

“Yes, Father. I will do my best,” Everil pledged confidently. There was no denying she still wanted to go to battle with them. To make a difference rather than staying cooped up in the castle waiting for them to return. But the task he was giving her wasn’t one to be taken lightly, either. This was the first time she had this much responsibility.

“I know you will, my dear.” Bryce’s smile broadened before he regarded his wife. “At any rate, I have some business to discuss with Duncan here. You two should head upstairs and inform Fergus he is to leave ahead of me. I will join you shortly.” 

His daughter regarded him curiously. “I thought you were all leaving today. What changed?”

“Come, darling.” Eleanor came up to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her out of the room. “I will explain on our way to your brother's quarters.”

Once the two women left the hall, Bryce returned his attention to Duncan. “Please forgive the disruption. My daughter is both stubborn and proud. Quite a difficult combination when it comes to discipline.”

“It's no trouble, my lord. Such traits are valuable in these troublesome times,” Duncan assured him with a slight smile.

“Indeed. Now… To the matter of your quest for new recruits. Did any of the warriors in the tourney pique your interest? If some did, I can make the call to have them brought here.”

“Yes…” Duncan paused, running a hand through his beard. “There were a few excellent prospects. However, we not only require strength and skill. Our recruits must also demonstrate that they are not only searching for fame and glory. Fighting the darkspawn requires a far greater sense of commitment and sacrifice... as I'm certain you understand.”

Bryce nodded. “Of course. Who do you have in mind?”

“The young man serving under you—Ser Gilmore… I believe he would be a suitable match for the Grey Wardens.”

Alistair glanced towards him, knowing full well the knight wasn’t his first choice. 

Teyrn Bryce clasped his hands behind his back, conflicted. “Ser Gilmore… He is amongst the best of my knights, so I don't doubt he would make a great addition to your ranks. Unfortunately, he’s practically part of the family. He and my daughter grew up together. Not to mention he’s the son of one of the banns farming my lands—one who also serves me loyally.”

“I understand, my lord. But battling the Blight demands sacrifice from us all. In a way, he would continue to serve your people by protecting them from the darkspawn threat,” Duncan graciously persisted. “Please. I would like to recruit him, with your leave.” 

“You are right, of course.” Bryce took a deep breath. “Very well… You have it.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”

He nodded and gave him a scrutinizing look. “Is he the only one you seek to recruit? I assumed you had someone else in mind, considering the outcome of the tourney.”

 _Ah… so he suspects already._ Alistair thought, taking notice of the chilling atmosphere now filling the room. His eyes went from Duncan to the teyrn, whose posture was now stiff.

Duncan held the teyrn’s gaze, and if he intimidated him at all, he didn’t show it. “Yes… Your daughter was actually my first choice, your Lordship.” 

The teyrn's tone went rigid. “I figured as much. I would appreciate it if you would please avoid approaching her about this matter. I will not approve of her being dragged into this conflict.”

“I thought you said Grey Wardens are heroes, old friend,” Howe spoke from behind him. “I would think it would be an honor.”

“It certainly would be, Howe. But I've not so many children that I would gladly send them all off to battle,” Bryce told his friend and cast troubled eyes on Duncan. "Unless… you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription.” 

Seeing his concern, Duncan's hardened expression softened, and he shook his head. “Have no fear. You have given me your answer. And while we are in desperate need of arms, I don’t intend to force the issue.”

“Good.” He released a soft breath of relief, shoulders visibly relaxing. “I thank you.” 

_So conscripting, in this case, is more trouble than it’s worth,_ Alistair thought, glancing towards his mentor. _The teyrn has a lot of influence, sitting right under the crown. It's no wonder Duncan doesn't want to risk making him angry._

“Well… Now that that’s settled, I imagine you must be worn out from your travels. Please feel free to stay the night. You can march with me to Ostagar in the morning,” Bryce said to them before addressing one of the guards. “Please take the Grey Wardens to Ser Gilmore and ask the maids to prepare one of the guest rooms for them.”

The guard nodded, slamming a fist to his chest. “Yes, my lord.” 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Your rebellious tendencies must stop. Now, they may just take you away because of your indiscretion,” Eleanor scolded her nineteen-year-old daughter as they walked through the castle. 

They were crossing an open path, daylight brightening everything it touched. Climbing plants crawled over the stone walls, splashing them with color. They reached over, dangling from the wooden arches above their heads. Soldiers stood in every corner, silent statues guarding their home 

“What?” Everil raised an eyebrow at her. “Take me away? Who, Mother?”

“The Grey Wardens. That's who. They are looking for recruits to help fight the Blight. Duncan was clearly interested in you. Now, I’ve no doubt he will ask to recruit you.”

Her daughter chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “Father would never allow it.”

“You don’t understand.” Eleanor paused in her stride, turning to her and taking her hand. “Grey Wardens have the king's leave to conscript whoever they wish—even those of noble birth. Even you.”

“Really? I thought they no longer had that power in Ferelden.”

“Well, they do now.” Eleanor released a breath, her brow still furrowed in worry as they resumed walking. “I hope your father keeps them from getting any ideas. I will not watch my only other child go off to fight Maker knows what.”

“Don't worry... I'm sure it will be all right.” 

There was a brief pause between them while Everil glanced apprehensively at her. “So Mother… Why is it you’re leaving the castle tomorrow too? Is your visit to Bann Loren’s wife truly necessary?”

“Yes. Your father wants everyone to look to you for leadership, not I. He thinks my presence here will undermine your authority.” 

“I don’t think you should go…”

Eleanor gave her a reassuring smile. “Don't worry, darling. I will return in a few weeks. After we have given enough time for everyone to get used to seeing you at the helm.”

“I just don't understand…” Everil stared ahead with troubled eyes. “Why does Father want me to do this now?”

“You are all grown up. It was bound to happen one day. And…” her mother sighed, gaze downcast. “Maker, I don’t even want to think about this, but… Should something happen to your father and brother out on the battlefield, you would be the one to take over Highever in their stead.” 

Everi’s frown deepened. “But Highever has you…”

“My pup, life is fleeting…” Eleanor stared lovingly at her. “I will not be here forever, you know.”

She smiled a little. “But you’re still young and strong, Mother dear. You have quite a few years ahead of you.” 

“Well, thank you,” she chuckled.

A scream followed by colorful curses echoed through the passageways, stopping them in their tracks as a dog ran towards them from the kitchens, a dead chicken dangling from his maws. He was being chased by Everil's old nanny, who wielded a pan as she screamed at the top of her lungs, “You rotten mutt!”

“Bjorn!” Everil called out before the hulking, brown dog reached her and cowered behind her skirts.

He was a mabari. A priced breed of hound meant for war and native to Ferelden, feared on the battlefield, with jaws capable of crushing bones and a nose that could track anything for miles. Yet in her eyes, he was but an oversized little puppy she pampered and spoiled.

“Young lady!” Nan stopped before her, wrinkled cheeks flushed in anger as she panted for breath. “Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder! And I grow weary of chasing it away from our food!”

Everil resisted the chuckle threatening to escape her as she stared.

Flour covered her old nanny’s simple cream dress and apron after the chase in the kitchen. More covered her face, blending with her white hair, wisps draping haphazardly from a once bun. She was the most experienced servant in their castle. Hired to care for her since her birth. She was also nearly part of the family. And she commanded the servants just as well as their knights did their soldiers. 

She offered her an apologetic smile, attempting to appease her. “He’s a growing boy, Nan. He requires more food than what the servants give him, that’s all.” 

“Nonsense! That dog eats better than most of our staff!" Nan retorted, glaring at the hound as it shrunk back behind its mistress. “Perhaps that's why he's such a glutton. Perhaps we should feed him less.”

The dog whined miserably in response.

Eleanor shook her head. “Darling, you need to control that troublesome hound or put him in the kennels. This is the third time he has caused trouble this week.”

“I thought I taught you personal responsibility, young lady,” Nan griped, crossing her arms. “He's your hound. I expect you to fix this and quickly.”

Everil groaned inwardly. Having raised her, Nan was the only servant in the entire castle who could yell at her as if she were a child. And things were worse when both she and her mother were in the same room. For it sometimes was as if she had two mothers, always around to scold and lecture her everywhere she went.

“I am sorry he bothered you, Nan,” she sighed, reaching down and prompting the hound to give her the pilfered treat. She held the dead animal by the neck, unfazed by the dripping blood as she offered it to her. “I don't know if it’s any good anymore... but here.”

Nan shook her head with a disgusted scowl and took the bird. “Just keep the bloody thing out of the kitchen. I cannot do my job with that beast roaming about.”

“I know. From now on, I will make sure to leave him in my room any time I’m away. Will that help?”

“Yes, my lady,” Nan replied, her anger ebbing away.

“All right then.” Everil craned her head down to the dog. “You heard me. No more raiding the kitchen for food. Understood?”

Bjorn whined a little, looking up at the three women with the saddest look he could muster.

She smiled at him, petting his head. “Oh, that won’t work on me, silly dog. I was the one who taught you that trick, remember?” 

He barked in response, wagging his stubby tail.

“Thank you, my lady. Now we can prepare food for our soldiers in peace.” Nan gave a curt bow before heading back the way she came.

“Good work calming her down. You always had a way with her," Eleanor praised with a smile. "Maybe your hound will refrain from causing any more mischief from now on. I swear he is too smart for his own good.”

“Yes...” Everil grinned at her. “But you must admit seeing Nan chase after him like that was pretty funny.”

Eleanor shook her head with a hopeless smile. “I see now why he chose you as his mistress. Terrible, terrible influence.”

“Oh, I am not so bad,” she jested, looking at her hound. “Right, boy?”

He barked.

Both women chuckled, their laughter carrying through the hallways.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

They entered their sleeping quarters, crossing a long hall well lit by torches. A few more sets of armor decorated it while ornate chairs sat in sitting areas by a few bookshelves against the wall. Portraits of her mother and father hung above their room on the far side of the wide corridor, her room and her brother's sitting opposite of each other next to theirs. 

The two of them entered one of the chambers, where Fergus, his wife, and child were saying their goodbyes. 

“Auntie! Auntie!” Everil's eight-year-old nephew ran up to her, latching on to her with a wide, excited smile. “You were so strong!”

“Thank you, Oren!” She ruffled his brown hair and hugged back the bouncing ball of energy. “Did you have fun today?”

He beamed. “Yes, Auntie! Lots and lots!”

Fergus and his wife, Oriana, were standing by the bedroom fireplace, smiling at her exchange with their boy. Rustic furniture adorned the room, along with exquisite paintings of the Fereldan landscape. A large bed was off to one side, while a smaller one sat across from it. Fur carpets adorned the stone floor, trophies from some of her brother's bigger hunts. 

“I knew you were up to something when I didn't see you with us, little sister. You gave everyone a splendid show.” Her brother grinned, mirth in his brown eyes. He was much older than her, but he was sometimes her partner in crime.

“Please don't encourage her, Son,” Eleanor pleaded and let out a heavy sigh. “Were it not for her itch to fight every battle, it would be easier for me to find her a decent suitor.”

He chuckled. “Come now, Mother dear. She refuses to wed because it is you and Father deciding for her. Everil is as headstrong as a boar.”

“Headstrong will not get me any more grandchildren,” she lamented.

“I’m standing right here, you know,” Everil muttered, still hugging her nephew. 

“I can’t help it, Sister. It’s my last chance to give you a hard time before I ride off.” Fergus smiled at her and crossed his arms. “So… I take it you two came to see me off?”

“Yes,” replied Eleanor. “And we bring a message from your father. You are to leave ahead of him. He will not be riding until tomorrow morning.”

“Ah… So Howe’s men really are delayed.” Fergus let out a scoff. “I swear it's almost as if they walked backward, the idiots.”

Oriana’s face fell. “I wish we had more time…”

“Don’t worry love...” He took her hand between both of his. “I promise to write to you every day.”

She smiled in return, sadness never leaving her eyes.

“Is it daw’rkspewn you will be fighting, Papa?” his son asked excitedly. “I sure wish I could see it!”

“Darkspawn, Oren. And I don’t believe they would be a pretty sight to see,” Fergus half-joked.

His wife frowned. “Maker, I don't want to even want to think about it…”

“Fergus will be fine,” Everil assured them as she looked down at Oren, stroking the boy’s hair. “Your father is a better swordsman than I, and you saw me defeat even Ser Gilmore today.”

“Yes! You should teach me how to fight too, Auntie!” came his energetic reply. “I want to learn how to use a sward too!” 

She grinned. “Ask your mother.”

Oriana sighed at her sister-in-law. “I believe my answer is no.” 

“I never get to do anything!” the child protested with a pout.

Light laughter filled the room as they chatted. Then Bryce arrived, having completed his talks with his guests. He walked up to them, standing by his wife. “I see you relayed the news.”

Fergus nodded. “Yes, Father. I will prepare the men and set out immediately.” 

“Father, are the Grey Wardens still here?” Everil asked, and seeing her mother's glare, she added. “Not that I will seek them out, or anything. I am only curious.” 

“Grey Wardens! Were they riding on griffons?” Oren asked in wonder.

“Griffons are extinct, dear. They only exist in storybooks now,” his mother corrected.

Bryce smiled. “Yes. They came looking for recruits. They have decided on Ser Gilmore.”

“Ser Gilmore?” Everil uttered, slightly disappointed. “I see…”

The young knight had been around her since they were kids. They were even involved in a bit of a relationship once before, which they left behind closed doors, as being the son of a bann, wooing her would appear as if Gilmore were seeking her family’s lands. Especially due to his service to her father. And appearances were everything for members of the nobility. 

Chastity was also important for noble daughters to marry into other influential families. So after only a few kisses, he cut things short between them—for her sake. It took years for her to set aside the romantic feelings, but she still cared for him as a trusted friend.

Fergus put on a proud smile, gently punching her arm. “I'm surprised they didn’t ask for my little sister, instead.” 

She punched him back, gazing at him with mock irritation.

“They know what is best,” Bryce said simply.

“Well…” Fergus sighed and rubbed his hands. “I suppose it’s time for me to go. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time.”

Eleanor stepped towards her son, eyeing him with concern as she cupped his cheek. “Please be safe out there, my son. I will pray for you every day you are gone.”

“You worry too much, Mother,” he uttered while pulling her into a gentle hug. “We will return soon, I promise.”

“Pup,” Bryce called to Everil. “You should head to bed now. You will need an early rise tomorrow so you may see me off and tend to my morning duties.” 

She nodded. “Understood.”

Fergus walked up to her, bringing her in for a tight embrace. “Take care of everyone, Everil.”

With a heavy heart, she wrapped her arms around her older brother and reciprocated the hug. Everil didn’t want to think about it, but this could be the last time she would ever see him. “Make sure you return in one piece, Fergus.” She pulled away, smiling up at him to hide her worries. “Now, get out of here already. The darkspawn are not going to kill themselves.”

He grinned. “I will kill a few in your name.”

She laughed. “Good.” 

After saying her goodnights, Everil exited the room, leaving her family to talk as she crossed the hall into her chambers. Her hound followed after her as she stepped inside, closing the door before letting out a tired huff. And it was then she noticed the awful feeling making its way into her heart. One she couldn’t explain. A frown creased her brow at the uncomfortable pressure in her chest, her hand coming to rest over the pendant her parents once gifted her.


	4. Attack on Highever Castle

⚜

  
  
  
  


_B_ _jorn’s barking and some loud bangs startled_ her awake from a restless sleep. With a groan, Everil sat up, seeing through her window it was still dark. Her puzzled stare went towards the door, while her dog continued to bark and growl, sensing someone outside.

More banging followed, weaker but insistent. 

“What in the Maker's name…?” She climbed out of bed and adjusted her white robe, crossing the chamber. She swung open the door. “What's the—!”A small body collapsed against her own, drawing a surprised gasp from her. 

“Auntie…”

“Oren!” Horror filled her cry as she wrapped her arms around him. He clung to her clothes, his back torn open by a grizzly gash. She fell on her knees along with him, desperately trying to stop the bleeding with her bare hands. But it kept gushing out, dripping down as the child quivered and whined.

A flash of silver came, drawing her stunned eyes to a man with a sword. Bjorn lunged, trapping the attacker's arm between his powerful jaws. He bit down with crushing force as the man screamed in agony, dropping his weapon. Before the enemy could defend himself, he released his arm and pounced, knocking him onto his back. He clamped down on his neck, teeth sinking into flesh and nerves. And with a swift jerk, he ripped out their throat, leaving him unable to scream as blood gushed onto the floor. Her canine stepped off the dying man, turning to her as crimson dripped from his mouth.

“Good boy…” Everil uttered to her dog, still in a dazed state. 

Her gaze descended on the child now resting his head on her lap. Her brain unable to tell if what it was seeing was real or a nightmare. Oren was hemorrhaging onto her skirts, soaking the white linen a deep red. There was nothing she could do to save him.

“Auntie…?” he called, struggling to breathe.

“Yes, pup…” She forced a tender smile, shaking fingers brushed his hair.

“I tried… to protect mother…” he coughed, blood streaming down his lips. “But I’m not… like father…”

His words broke her heart, knowing the meaning behind them. Oriana...

“No… She’s safe…” Everil whispered, stroking his cheek as tears formed in her eyes. “You were very brave, Oren... Your father will be very proud.”

Anyone watching from the outside would deem her cruel for lying to him. For deceiving him. But Everil didn't care. She couldn’t save him, but she would make sure he went to his death with pride and honor, as any warrior would.

“Ah… I’m… a hero.” Voice fading, he turned up his stare, gazing past her with a small smile on his lips. “Mother…? I did... save you… Mother…”

Oren took a deep, quivering breath and released it for the last time. A man’s blade had cut his life short, extinguishing it like a candle. Everil let out a broken sob as a single tear escaped her. She swallowed, picking herself up while also lying down her nephew’s corpse. Rising to her feet, it was as if her body moved on its own. Quick hands opened a trunk and tore off her bloodied clothes as her mind operated on instinct. _We're under attack... Maker, we're under attack!_

She slid into her family armor, heart racing in her ears. Linen shirt first, chain hauberk next. Then the breastplate, pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves—all made of fine steel.

Already, she could hear more footsteps coming from the hall. Passing her room, going for her parents' quarters. Everil gritted her teeth and pulled on the last strap to secure her armor. She grabbed her sword and dagger and rushed out the door, the hound running after her. Once in the hall, her glare landed on the four men trying to force their way into her parents’ chambers. They wore iron scale armor, swords, and axes. All stained with fresh blood. It was then that she caught sight of their shields and the great bear painted over them. A familiar coat of arms.

Howe’s men... The grip on her weapon tightened, fists shaking with rage. That bloody rat betrayed us!

“Open the damn door!” one of them yelled. “You can't hide forever, you old bag!”

“You’ve got your backs to me, thinking me dead.” Everil emerged from the shadows behind them, voice dangerously low. “Foolish move…”

The men spun around, weapons in hand. 

She was standing between them and their only way out, the hound growling by her side, ready to charge at her command.

“It’s… It's Lady Everil!” one of them stammered, all color draining from his face. “She’s alive!”

“Ah… so you still have the decency to address me by title, while you attack my castle and spill my family’s blood.” She took a step, the torches revealing her murderous glare. “You will pay for what you've done tenfold, you bastards!”

The men backed away, cornered like rabbits in a cage, with nowhere to go but to face her. They hesitated, exchanging nervous glances after having heard stories of her prowess. But they outnumbered her now and even a skilled warrior like her had a weakness.

One soldier dropped into a fighting stance, weapons at the ready. “Come on! She’s just one woman!”

The others followed suit. “Kill her!”

“You will be the ones to die here!” she cried out and aimed her sword, unleashing her hound. “Bjorn!” 

With a vicious snarl, the dog charged, closing the distance with powerful strides. The solid mass of pure muscle tackled a soldier as Everil lunged forth, evading their attacks. She stabbed one’s throat, the blade penetrating through it as his blood sprayed out. She twisted and pressed a dagger to another’s neck, slicing it open. Blood gushed from the wound as he gargled and died, then another reached out to her. Her dog bit his leg, pinning him down as she brought around her sword with a roaring cry, cutting his hand clean off. Screaming, he fell, rolling over onto his stomach as he cradled the bleeding stump. 

She stood over him and regarded her hound, no mercy in her stare. “Kill him.” 

And he obeyed. Bjorn bit the man’s neck, shaking him like a rag doll until it snapped. He stopped screaming. 

Seeing them now dead, she approached her parents' room and knocked on the door. “Mother, Father… it’s me. Are you in there?”

It opened, revealing her mother, clad in her own armor, a longbow hanging over one shoulder. Eleanor looked her over in a panic, seeing the blood all over her. “Andraste’s mercy! Are you all right?”

“Don't worry. It’s not my blood.” Everil sheathed her blades. “Come, Mother. We must hurry before more of them get here.”

“Who—” Eleanor gazed over the corpses, seeing the emblem on a shield. “Those are Howe’s men! Why would they attack us?” 

She scowled, putting the pieces together in her mind. “Howe has betrayed Father. He delayed his men on purpose and attacks while our forces are gone.”

“That bastard! I knew something wasn't right! I will cut his lying throat myself!” Eleanor bit out before fear replaced her anger. “Have you seen your Father? He never came to bed!”

“No, but we must find him quickly.” She made to walk down the hall. “Come on.”

“Wait!” Her mother frowned, taking her hand to stop her. “What of Oren and Oriana?”

Everil stiffened, not daring to look her in the eye. She opened her mouth and closed it, unable to speak. Sensing her hesitation, her mother’s head slowly turned towards her son’s room. Her eyes fell on the blood, following the splatters trailing out across the hall.

“No…” she breathed, anguish twisting her aging face.

“I couldn’t save them…” Everil’s hand closed into a fist. “Oren was the one who woke me up… but I was too late. Oriana… She’s gone too.”

“No! My little Oren!” Eleanor tried to run for her room, but her daughter grabbed her by the arm.

“We don’t have time, Mother!” she snapped, ignoring her own pain to save those she could. “We can mourn them later! Right now we must find Father!”

Eleanor stifled a sob and nodded, forcing down the tears before they both hurried to the end of the hallway. 

Sounds of battle reached their ears the moment they stepped onto the open paths outside. Their feet hit the ground in haste, the scent of smoke and blood washing over them. Permeating the passage with its stench as the glow of burning flames lit up the night sky above. Screams cut through the clashes of metal and the battle cries of men as those inside the castle perished.

More enemies rounded the corner, weapons raised as they charged with murderous intent. Crying out, Everil met them, deflecting a sword with her own before cutting open the man’s side. Then she brought an arm up to stop a swing, her blade finding the man's gut and running him through. Her hound pounced, tackling the next enemy. While behind them, her mother released some arrows, killing those further down.

They continued on, dashing past the bodies of servants and guards until they reached the soldiers’ quarters. Eventually, her mother could no longer stand the savagery of Howe’s betrayal. “Wait!” she called, seizing her arm.

Everil spun about to face her. “Mother, we—!”

“Listen to me!” Eleanor demanded, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “Howe seeks to kill all of us to take Highever. If you die, the entire Cousland bloodline ends here. I don’t want you bent on seeking revenge right now. Your goal is to survive. Do you understand?”

“No! If I see Howe, I will take the opportunity and run him through!”

“Please, darling. Think. We are outnumbered and Howe is not to be taken lightly,” Eleanor pleaded above the sound of the screams, her loving gaze meeting hers. “Now, promise me. Promise me you will not fight him here! No matter what happens to me or your Father, you will run!”

Everil clenched her teeth, tearing her frustrated stare away from her. She was right. Howe was an experienced rogue, his years of battle granting him skills she lacked. He would easily overpower her and his men would do the rest. They'd lose all if they fell. They had to live through tonight. “Fine… I promise, Mother.”

“Good. We will use the secret passage in the kitchen larder to escape the castle. It’s possible your father is making a stand in the main hall. We will search for him there.” Eleanor reached up and pulled a key from under her armor, plucking it off her neck. “Before that, we must stop by the vault and retrieve the Cousland family blade. I want you to take it and bring it with you.” Her mother’s expression darkened. “That blade cannot fall into Howe’s hands. It should severe his traitorous head!”

“Agreed… Let’s hurry.” Everil took the key from her and they resumed their quest through the castle’s passageways. She held onto it in her hand, going through what her mother’s plan meant. Her family had passed the Cousland blade from teyrn to teyrn for generations. Crafted from silverite, one of the toughest and most valuable of the metals found in Ferelden. Its edge was still sharp despite the years of disuse. Which made her realize her mother was already preparing her for the worst. 

Everil’s eyes narrowed at the thought as they ran. _Curse you, Rendon Howe!_

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Several more castle staff lay dead along their path as they stormed to the family vault. More enemies blocked their advance. They'd killed the guards, leaving the corpses riddled with stab wounds. Their four killers turned to the two women, recognizing them. “It’s the teyrna and the daughter! Kill them!” 

Everil struck at the first’s weapon, deflecting the hit and swinging the fist with the vault key against his face. He grunted, stunned, and with his nose broken before she drove her blade into his gut. She ducked when the other tried to stab at her head, bringing her leg down to knock him off his feet. Bjorn jumped on him, pinning him down with his massive weight before tearing his throat apart. More arrows hit the next two on the chest and shoulder. But the injuries weren’t fatal as they continued to advance upon them. Everil ran up at them, vision focused upon their weak spots. And in two quick slashes, their necks were slit, their blood staining her armor as they crumbled to the ground.

In a hurry, she opened the heavy wooden door, the enemy being unable to enter without their key. Quick steps took her through their treasures. Jewels, armor, artifacts, and weapons—all objects that no longer mattered. Behind her, Eleanor stood guard, an arrow ready while her daughter sought what they came for. 

Everil reached the end of the room, where a silver blade sat upon an ornate pedestal. It glimmered under the flame of the torches at its sides. The steel hilt adorned with swirling patterns and encrusted with tiny sapphires. Her family’s sword—Elethea. The same weapon once wielded by the woman whose namesake it carried. Teyrn Elethea Cousland. The first of her family to serve under Ferelden’s first king after having attempted to rebel against him. 

She discarded her sword without care, then pulled the family blade from its perch, looking it over as if seeing it for the first time. It was a bit heavier when compared to what she was used to, and she could feel the bit of magic coursing through it. The same magic protecting it from all wear and rust.

“More coming!” Eleanor signaled in alarm.

Everil did an about-face and strode towards her. “Then they will be the first to taste our blade’s wrath by my hand.”

Soldiers invaded the room in minutes, attempting to corner them. The young rogue dashed between them and her mother before locking blades with them. She struck with two hands on the hilt, knocking an axe out of one man’s hand. Then brought her weapon swooshing back around, cutting across his chest. She thrust through the neck of the one next to him and roughly pulled it out, leaving a gushing wound. A mace tried to crush her head, but she avoided it, leaning back as it flew in front of her face. Before he could recover, she brought the sword in a swift, diagonal strike. It slashed over his ribs, the exceptionally sharp edge splitting his armor open.

“Well done, darling!” Eleanor complemented as the last man fell.

“Let’s go,” Everil told her before leading them out of the vault in haste, leaving all their riches without looking back. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

By the time they burst through the doors to the main hall, several bodies lay sprawled over the floor. Dead beside more of the downed enemies. There had been a battle here already, but it wasn’t over. Ser Gilmore jogged over to them, followed by the two Grey Wardens. “Your Ladyship, my lady! Thank the Maker you’re both alive!”

“Howe’s men surround the castle,” Duncan told them, calm despite the chaos. “We have managed to push them back, but they’re trying to break through the gates. If they succeed, it will all be over. We must move quickly.” 

Everil glared at the doors as loud banging echoed inside the hall, lips pressed into a thin line. What little remained of their soldiers were holding shut the gates. Locked in a losing battle to keep the enemy from breaking through once more. She looked towards Ser Gilmore. “We cannot leave without my father. Have any of you seen him?”

He nodded toward the service wing. “He went toward the kitchen, badly wounded and very weak. I tried to stop him, but he was determined to find you.”

Gilmore’s words made her anxiously bite her lip, worried for her father. Things were deteriorating fast and there was nothing she could do to stop it. “Wardens,” she called to them, voice firm despite the surrounding desperation. “We know where my father is and the way out, but we will need your help to reach him.”

“Of course. We’ll follow you,” Alistair replied without hesitation. 

“Thank you.” Everil gave him a dip of her head and gestured toward the door to her left. “Our escape is that way. I will lead you there.” Then she took a few steps as the others followed. All except the red-headed knight.

“Come on!” she yelled at him.

Gilmore glanced over at the entrance as the banging became louder. The soldiers keeping it shut were losing their hold. It wouldn't be long before they would break through to slaughter them all. And he needed to make sure the family could flee before that happened. He turned to Everil, sullen expression upon his face. “I will not be going with you.”

“What?” She approached him.

“I need to stay here and buy you time,” he replied before shifting his stare to the two Wardens. “Grey Wardens, please help them escape. I’m sorry that I can’t come with you, but I am still sworn to protect the Couslands at all costs.”

Duncan nodded. “We understand.”

“Gilmore...” Everil pleaded.

His expression softened as a slight smile spread upon his lips. “Please… You know this is how it should be. Now go.”

“But…” She vehemently shook her head, hands closed into fists. “But I can’t just—!”

“Everil…” He reached for her hand, loosening her fingers as he held it, eyes meeting hers. “There’s no need for you to mourn me. Duty or not, I die willingly for you and I have no regrets.”

She swallowed and exhaled shakily. She grabbed him by his armor, pulling him down to her to press her lips to his. His shoulders slumped as he returned the kiss. Soft and bittersweet.

“Thank you…” she murmured, holding back tears. “For everything…” 

“It has been an honor…” He caressed her cheek before reluctantly pulling away. “Now go. Quickly.” 

Eleanor gave him a saddened look. “Thank you, Ser Gilmore. May the Maker watch over you.”

“May the Maker… watch over us all!” He cried out and ran for the gates, joining the others. 

Everil reluctantly tore her gaze away from her friend and her faithful soldiers. They were sacrificing themselves for her, giving their lives away out of honor and loyalty because of a man who held neither. Her feet moved once more, taking her to the door. The group left the main hall, where everyone inside would soon meet their end.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Alistair followed the women as they ran, a mabari hound he assumed was theirs ahead of them. Duncan held the rear, following close behind them, watching for enemies who may have followed or attempted to surprise them.

He couldn’t imagine what the family was going through. Their home and their lives ripped apart. With nothing they could do but to run while watching the people they loved or trusted die around them. And as for him, he thought they would end up going down along with them. Mere moments ago, he and his mentor had been asleep, resting from their journey. Then enemy soldiers were breaking in, slaughtering everyone else in sight. They dispatched them quickly, but they had fought along with the guards ever since. 

“This way!” Everil turned a corner, forced to lead them the long way as burning fires blocked most routes. Enemies awaited them as they entered the next passageway, clashing with them. Bjorn pounced on the first and she blocked a sword from the next as the man brought it down with a roar. She parried it off to the side before using her blade's pommel to hit him on the side of the head. The teyrna stood back, releasing arrows onto them. 

More soldiers erupted from a room behind Duncan, charging towards them. Both Wardens took them on. The senior leaned and dodged the first sword just as his dagger shot forth, slashing over the man's neck. He ducked from a mace and lunged, thrusting his blade into his gut. 

Alistair was fighting two more, blocking an axe with his shield, then running the man through. He took one decisive step to the next as the soldier ran at him with a cry. He deflected the hit, striking at the sword with his blade before bringing it back around to slash at his chest. The man stumbled back with a hand to the wound, but the Warden's weapon found his belly, piercing through it. Another came up from behind him, trying to attack him as Alistair spun around to engage him. Yet the man never reached him. Instead, falling face down to the ground, a dagger sticking out from his back.

The Warden’s eyes went up, seeing Everil lowering her arm, the enemies blocking their way now dead around her. Behind him, Duncan continued to clear more men coming from the rear. His technique with the dual blades much more polished than that of the lady ahead. He slithered around each attack. Slashing through between armor plating and eliminating them with swift precision.

After defeating their foes, they made it through to the service wing. Covered in gore and tired while stepping over the mangled corpses of the staff. The entire area was a nightmare, with elves and human innocents lying in the halls. Raped women lay with their clothes torn and chests bare, killed without mercy. Deeply disturbed, Everil stepped over them. Swallowing the vile threatening to rise in rage and disgust.

When they entered the kitchen, she immediately spotted Nan’s body on the floor. Lying in a pool of blood, along with other servants. Sorrow gripping, her chest, she painfully looked away from the woman who raised her. Her feet picked up the pace, walking past her corpse, heading toward the larder. Her mother got there first.

Eleanor barged in, searching around the dark room. 

“There… you two are,” came the weak voice of the teyrn. He was on the ground, leaning back against a stack of wooden crates and holding on to a bleeding injury.

“Bryce!” His wife ran to him, falling on her knees beside him. “What happened? You’re bleeding!”

“Howe… He… tried to do me in the study,” he replied between gasps for breath. “I was trying to find you… I am relieved... That you're unharmed.”

Duncan turned to Alistair and motioned with his head to the kitchen door. At which he nodded and moved towards it to keep an eye out for any incoming threats. 

Everil approached her father with concerned eyes, seeing the poor shape he was in. She gritted her teeth, tight hands gripping her weapons. “Howe will pay for this...”

Bryce weakly gazed up at her, blood trickling down the side of his lips. “Yes, pup… You must go… Tell Fergus and the king what happened.”

With a furrowed brow, she knelt before him. “But you can tell them yourself, Father.”

“I… I'm afraid I will not survive the standing…” her father said as an agonizing shiver shook his body. More blood spilled from his wound. “I'm… I'm dying… You must—”

“Bryce, no! We can get you out of here! Find you healing magic!” Eleanor protested with urgency, pressing her hands to his to stop the bleeding.

“I'm sorry, love…” he lamented . “I am… too weak to move. I will only be a burden to you.”

“No...” Everil whispered hoarsely. “You can do it. I can help support you and the Wardens can help us escape.”

He shook his head and cast a desperate stare upon the Grey Warden. “Duncan, the secret passage out of the castle is behind that wall…” He pointed a bloody finger to a spot at his right. “Push on the discolored stone… It will release the mechanism. I beg of you… take my wife and daughter to safety. You are their only hope.” 

“Of course, your Lordship. But I’m afraid I must ask for something in return.” Duncan took a knee next to his daughter. “What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world. I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one.”

Pausing for a moment, the teyrn swallowed, his stare falling. “I... understand.”

“Wait…” Everil’s worried eyes went from her father to Duncan. “Are you talking about me?”

“Yes. You fought your way to us through Howe’s men. I believe the Maker’s intention is clear,” he replied before casting a steely gaze upon the teyrn. “Should you agree, I will take the teyrna and your daughter with me to Ostagar. There they can tell the king what happened. After that, your daughter joins the Grey Wardens to take arms against the Blight.”

Alistair glanced over his shoulder, knitting his eyebrows. The teyrn was at death’s doorstep, and yet here they were, demanding to take his daughter away. To a war that might very well get her killed.

Bryce and Eleanor exchanged a look, at which she hesitantly nodded.

The teyrn gulped. “You... have my leave.”

“But I want Howe dead!” Everil’s exasperation strained her voice. “I won't be able to bring revenge upon him by fighting monsters!”

“Defeating the Blight is our primary concern. Your revenge must come later,” Duncan responded, unconcerned by the glare she sent him. 

“Darling...” her mother called, drawing her attention. “The Couslands always do our duty first. You will help save Ferelden, defeat the Blight as a hero would, and then avenge our family. I know you can do it.”

She felt tears well up as she looked at her, her frustration boiling. Her mother was usually against her desire for battle and her need for adventure. Yet here she was, pushing her into danger to save her life. 

The teyrna smiled tenderly, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Now, go with the Wardens. You have a better chance to escape without me.”

“What...?” Her words stunned her.

“But love…” Bryce protested weakly.

“Hush, Bryce…” She cut in, smiling woefully at him. “I will kill every bastard who comes through that door to buy them time but I won't abandon you.”

“No…” Everil’s anguished stare shifted between the two. “No! I can’t let you sacrifice yourself for me!”

“I couldn’t go on living without your father…” Eleanor reached out to stroke her cheek. “And if my life can help save yours... then so be it.” 

“Mother…” Her quivering hand went up to rest on her steady one as she stifled a sob. She closed her eyes tight, relishing her touch as tears rolled down her face. This would be the last time she would ever see her or hear her voice. The last time she would ever get to speak with either of them. 

“Go, pup…” Her father took her other hand. “Survive… and make your mark on the world.” 

“Yes, Father…” Everil whispered brokenly, more tears escaping her as she held onto them. “I love you both...”

They heard a loud bang, followed by the cries of soldiers echoing throughout the castle.

“They broke through!” Alistair alerted, turning to the group. “We should hurry!”

“Come!” Duncan grabbed his new recruit by the arm, pulling her up and separating her from her parents.

Everil let him, burdened by the task they bestowed upon her as she followed the Warden-Commander to the secret passage. He released the mechanism and pushed onto the wall, opening it and allowing Alistair to run out first to scout ahead. But she didn’t move, instead, staring at her parents as they held each other in one last embrace.

“Goodbye, darling...” Eleanor told her over the sound of the incoming soldiers, her weak smile reaching her. “We love you very much.”

“Mother…” she whispered miserably in return, torn apart by what was wrong or right. 

Leave and survive. 

Or stay and die with them so Howe could claim his prize.

Everil bit her lip in agony and willed herself to move, letting her running feet take her to the Grey Warden waiting for her at the door. Her hound followed and then Duncan as they disappeared through the wall. The door closed behind them, blending into the wall once more.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

They fled through the back of the castle. Hidden by the darkness of the night while hearing the dying screams of her soldiers. Everil tried to block the terrible sound. To not let it haunt her as it did. And just followed the two Grey Wardens, everything around her a blur.

It was as if they'd been running for hours, but they kept going, fighting through the exhaustion for as long as they could. They went through bushes and around trees, crossing the thicket surrounding the castle grounds. Then they were climbing a steep slope, going higher and over the woods, until they reached flat ground at the top. They stopped, their pulses racing as they panted for breath. Even the hound's tongue hung from the side of his mouth.

Hands on her knees, Everil licked her lips, breathing heavily as sweat slid down her brow. Slowly, she straightened, aching heart pounding in her chest. She forced herself to turn around and took a step to the ledge. Her widened stare looked back at what she left behind. 

The two Grey Wardens walked closer, standing behind her as the icy breeze blew against her blood-stained hair. Her hound sat next to her, whining upon sensing his mistress’s pain. From their position above the trees, they could see the faint light of torches around her home. All carried by Howe’s soldiers. Deep, black smoke rose from within the castle walls, blocking the stars as fires engulfed every room. 

They were tearing apart her life. Her home.

Her jaw clenched painfully and her fists shook. All she ever knew and loved was gone, ripped away by a man whose avarice and pride surpassed all honor. Because of him, she wouldn't get to hear her nephew’s laughter again. Or feel her mother's hugs. Or hear her father's encouraging words. 

They were gone. 

Gone forever.

Silence stretched out as her shoulders shook, hanging over them like a shroud. The only sound that of her heavy, broken breaths.

“Listen…” Alistair stepped closer to her, sympathy in his eyes. “I’m—”

“Don’t!” Everil cut him off while roughly wiping away a single tear. Then she turned to them, pain giving way to unwavering tenacity. “I have no right to mourn their deaths. Not until Howe lies dead at my feet!” 

Her words were a promise. An oath only she could keep. 

“Now, let’s move. There is a Blight to stop,” she commanded, holding her head up high before striding past them. 

The two men watched her in silence as she stalked towards the woods ahead, followed by her faithful hound. Going south.


	5. On to Ostagar

⚜

  
  
  


**_T_ ** _he four of them traveled through_ the wilderness in silence, each step taking them further away from the girl’s home. Duncan was grateful for the full moon’s light, as torches would have drawn unwanted attention in the dark of night. His plan was to keep Everil hidden long enough to make it to Ostagar by avoiding the road or other frequently used paths. They knew Howe would most likely have soldiers guarding the way out from Highever, ready to eliminate anyone coming from the castle.

He glanced over a shoulder at his charges. They had been walking for hours, bloodied and worn from all the fighting. Alistair was pushing on, but he could tell his feet were dragging. Everil seemed to be the most tired, but she kept her head up despite her slouched shoulders. Even their canine companion was panting heavily, his drool dripping on the dirt.

“If—or when—we stop to rest...” Her soft voice broke the silence. “Could we do so soon? And perhaps near a stream? I would truly appreciate the opportunity to wash off the blood and sweat currently caked on me.”

“I second that request,” Alistair added tiredly, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.

Duncan quietly agreed, deciding it was probably more dangerous to continue as they were. He led them further into the forest, walking through bushes and over roots. The sound of running water soon reached their ears as they neared a small clearing between the trees, big enough for a small camp. “You two set up a campfire, but stay close to this area. I shall ensure we were not followed.” He turned and stepped back into the woods, leaving the three of them behind.

After he was gone, Everil moved towards the nearest stick she could see under the moonlight before crouching to pick it up. “So he's your commander...” 

Alistair briefly glanced at her and stepped over to another dry piece of wood lying on the ground. “Yes. He’s the leader of all Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Although he would tell you that doesn’t mean much since there’s so few of us.”

She cradled the growing bunch of sticks and small branches under one arm. “How few?” 

“Not enough to defeat the Blight on our own.” He knelt at the center of the clearing and began arranging rocks and wood in a circle. “We called for the Grey Wardens of Orlais, but the king doesn’t want to wait for them to get here.”

“Wait for them?” Everil approached him, handing him what she'd gathered. “Is something going to happen? I wondered why he called for our soldiers in such short notice.”

“The king is planning one last assault against the darkspawn, in hopes to end the Blight then and there.”

“I see… But why in the south? Why Ostagar?”

“The darkspawn came from the heart of the Korcari Wilds, so that’s where you'll find the bulk of the horde. Ostagar's an old fortress built at the edge of the woods long ago, to keep the barbarians from invading. It's in a great defensive position, so it makes sense we use it.” He took the last stick from her. “You’ll see when we get there.”

Quietly, she watched Alistair pull flint out from the leather bag at his hip before flicking them over their pile. Soon flames illuminated the clearing, warmth replacing the biting cold of the Fereldan eve. The light from the fire allowed her to see just how bad a shape she was in as she looked down upon her hands and chest. Blood clung to her armor, staining the steel a dark, almost black-red as bits of gore hung from the chains on her gauntlets. Any other day she probably wouldn’t have minded as much. But right now… Right now she just wanted it all off.

Swallowing a knot in her throat, Everil looked towards the stream hidden by the woods behind them, the rolling water calling to her. She craned her head down to her companion, a subtle frown creasing her brow. “Would it be incredibly rude of me to ask if you carry an extra undershirt and breeches in that bag of yours? I… would like to wash mine and it’s a little cold for wet clothes.”

“Uh, yes… I do have some.” Alistair stood and fished out a tightly-rolled bundle before handing it to her. “Here you go.”

Her hands gently took them. “Thank you, Ser...”

“You can just call me Alistair, my lady.” He smiled lightly at her.

“Then just Everil is fine to me, as well. We’ll be working together from now on, after all.” She offered him a small smile of her own. “I look forward to traveling with you.”

“Uhm, thanks… So do I.”

Alistair watched as she spun about and began trekking towards the stream, leaving him by the fire. He imagined merely rinsing her armor wouldn’t be enough to get rid of the blood that once belonged to her family and castle staff. And he couldn’t blame her for wanting it off of her as soon as possible. Letting out a puff of air, he sat down on a nearby log and shook his head. He was certainly not used to talking to women, especially those as beautiful as her.

She looked back at their small camp, making sure her companion was a good distance away and seeing that his back was turned to her as he watched the fire. Now knowing it was safe to undress, Everil tiredly began untying the straps on her armor, carefully ridding herself of it. Then she stepped into the stream, shivering as the cold water touched her bare legs. It barely reached her hips, but it was enough for her to kneel and wash the dried blood off her body.

With a running start, Bjorn jumped in next to her, splashing her before shaking off the grime clinging to his fur.

“Aww…” She laughed wryly at his obvious discomfort while running her fingers through her hair. “It reeks... doesn’t it boy?”

Bjorn stopped and looked at her, slowly walking over, deeper into the water. She scratched the back of his ears and proceeded to gently rub his face, trying to help him wash off what he couldn't reach. Everil didn’t know what was in store for her in the war, but she was glad at least her hound was with her. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, pushing down the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. Already she’d said there would be no mourning. Not yet.

Trying to calm herself, Everil breathed in and out, in and out, waiting for the pain to ease away. She began to wash her clothes and armor, scrubbing off all signs of battle. Once done, she spread everything over a nearby bush to dry before picking up the clothes the Warden had let her borrow. First, she threw on the basic white shirt, the linen soft and warm against her chilled skin. Then she lifted the trousers to look at them, shaking her head upon seeing they were obviously too small around the hips in comparison to her figure. At least the shirt went down to the middle of her thighs, enough to cover her body. It was not the most decent of outfits, especially when in the company of men, but it was still better than nothing.

Nodding to herself, she picked up her weapons and tucked them under one arm before heading back to camp. Her hound again followed protectively behind her, shivering a bit at the cold.

Alistair looked up as she approached, only to quickly turn away at the sight of her bare legs.

“I don’t think these will fit and I didn’t want to force them on. The tunic will do for now, however… So thank you.” She offered back the trousers, too distraught to acknowledge his awkwardness at her state of undress.

He grabbed them without really looking at her. “You're welcome...”

Upon setting down her blades, she took a seat on the ground by the fire and brought her hair over one shoulder so the heat would help dry it. Bjorn lay next to her, also enjoying the warmth. After a moment of watching the flames bounce and sway, Everil began to realize just how tired she truly was. Her muscles ached from overuse and her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. But she didn’t want to sleep yet. She couldn’t.

Fighting through it, she glanced sideways and took a brief look at the Grey Warden’s profile as he busied himself with the coals. He had a strong jaw and a stubbed chin, the firelight reflecting on his eyes making them glow the color of warm honey. He was quite pleasant to look at, and she almost wanted to keep staring, if only to distract herself. But instead, she turned her eyes away, choosing to admire the dangerous beauty of their glowing campfire.

Silence stretched out between them as the crackling of the coals filled it with random pops and cracks. Concerned by her sudden lack of words, Alistair turned his attention to her from where he sat, easily taking notice of her unrest. How she wasn’t crumbling after her family was murdered was beyond him, but he knew all too well what heartache looked like and not even someone as strong as she could hide it.

“You know…” he began, trying not to leave her alone with her thoughts. “I just realized there haven’t been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps I just happen to be one of the few exceptions… I can handle myself better than most other women, after all.”

“Yes…” He gave her a tiny, half-grin. “I certainly wouldn't want to fight you.”

Everil smiled weakly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind one ear. She was welcoming the conversation as a distraction. “How long have you been a Warden?”

“Duncan recruited me six months ago. So not long when compared to the others,” he said as he rummaged through his pack once more, taking out some dried meat and offering her a piece. “Hungry?”

“No, I’m all right. Thanks.” She shifted her eyes to the fire while reaching down to absently rub behind her hound’s ear. “I imagine you have already killed your fair share of darkspawn?”

“I have, yes. I will never forget my first, though...” He visibly shivered at the memory and took a bite of his snack, chewing it before swallowing. “Those things are terrifying… Especially the big ones. Have you ever fought one?”

She shook her head. “No…”

“Well, I’m sure you will soon,” he said before finishing the piece of jerk. Then he saw her eyes slowly closing, only to snap back open as she struggled to stay awake. His lips formed a gentle smile. “You should get some sleep. Duncan will be back soon.”

A streak of pain crossed her features, followed by irritation and embarrassment. Everil looked away from him, shoulders stiff as she stared off into the inky darkness of the woods. She spoke, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. “I... I don't want to give Howe the opportunity to strike while I sleep.”

The Warden gazed at her, full of sympathy. “Look... I know we’re still strangers to you, but you’re one of us now. Duncan and I will keep watch and make sure nothing happens to you. I promise.”

“All right…” Everil muttered, stifling a yawn before adjusting herself. She lay down on her side, resting her head on one arm while her sword and dagger remained within reach. Never had she slept on the ground like this before, but she was far too tired to care.

Alistair watched her slowly close her eyes and drift off. In minutes, she was sleeping soundly, her soft breaths filling the quiet as the light danced over her. She curled into a ball, the position making her seem much smaller and frail than she truly was. Then a cool breeze blew over them, causing her to shiver in response. Seeing this, her mabari rose and stepped closer, leaning his large body against her exposed legs and resting his head upon them. The gesture drew a soft sigh out of her and her body stopped quivering.

“Well... Don't you look comfortable?” He whispered, giving the dog an amused grin.

Bjorn snorted, too tired himself to further acknowledge the human male. 

_She has Duncan, her war hound, and me watching over her. I think she’ll be just fine on the way to Ostagar. Not that she needs much protection anyway..._

Rustling coming from the brush behind him snapped him to alert. He shot up to his feet, hand flying to the sword at his hip. “Who goes there?”

The hound's head shot up, ears perking. But upon sniffing the air, he huffed and laid back down.

“It's me,” Duncan announced as he walked up to the camp. 

Alistair relaxed upon seeing him, slowly releasing his blade. 

The senior Warden glanced towards the sleeping girl and her dog, taking a seat on the same log.

“No trouble?” whispered Alistair while lowering himself to sit next to him.

“No. None followed. How is our new recruit faring?”

“Better than I would in her situation, that's for sure.” He took in her sleeping features from a distance and a troubled crease slowly settled upon his brow. “Duncan… This doesn't feel right. For all we know, her brother may not have made it to Ostagar alive. She could be the last of the Couslands.” He shifted his worried eyes to him. “What if... What if during the Joining...?”

“There are bigger things at stake than a noble's bloodline, Alistair.” Duncan produced a flask from the bag at his side and offered him the bottle. 

For the first time, Alistair rejected it, giving it a dismissive wave of his hand. “It just feels as if… As if we lied to an honorable man.” He guiltily kept glancing over at her, trying to keep his voice down. “He entrusted her fate to us… And yet she could...”

“There was no deception. I made no promises outside of getting her out of the castle in one piece. Besides, her fate is not yet sealed. She may yet become that which her father wished her to be.” Duncan took a long swig from the flask, enjoying the heat of the liquor he and his Warden brethren made months ago. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sternly regarding his pupil once more. “Our lives are constantly ruled by uncertainty. Hers is no different. As Grey Wardens, we must be willing to take chances when most would not. Make sacrifices most would refuse to make.”

“I know… It’s just…”

“You are letting your emotions get the best of you, Alistair. You mustn't.”

“Right...” He let out a breath while meekly poking the fire, before tossing the stick into the flames as he stood. “I’m going to wash off now.”

Smiling a little, Duncan watched him walk off and gave his head a shake. The young man had learned much in the six months they've been around each other, yet it seemed there was still room for improvement. He understood how he felt, however. He was born in Highever and knew the Couslands since before becoming a Grey Warden. They were fair rulers, and as such, they’d been loved by their people—even by him. He took another drink and gazed sadly upon the slumbering girl on the other side of the fire. And he too found himself hoping that she would survive the days to come.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Wetness on one cheek woke her up, and of course, she already knew who it was. Everil groaned and rolled over, vaguely noticing her bed had become unusually hard and prickly. The moist swipe of a tongue shifted to her other side of her face, persistently urging her to open her eyes. “Stop… Too early,” she mumbled, gently swatting at the hound. The smell of cooking meat reached her nose, at which her stomach grumbled, obviously more awake than she. Huffing tiredly, she pushed herself up and rubbed her eyes, yawning loudly.

“Good morning.” 

Her head snapped towards the source of the voice to see Duncan currently cooking over the fire. He gave her a brief glance before turning to the hare. “We should eat and keep moving before Howe’s men find us.”

She looked at him groggily, then as his words spilled out, memories slowly streamed into her brain. An array of emotions flashed over her features as she recalled the death of her family, the screams, and the blood. She found herself grateful he was too preoccupied with their meal to witness it. “I agree…” Her firm voice carried no clues as to what she felt inside. “The sooner we arrive at Ostagar, the better.”

After waking his mistress, the dog set his sights upon his next victim, who was lying asleep on the other side of the campfire. He trotted over to the young man and loomed over him with a glint in his brown eyes. Alistair was on his side, resting his head on one folded arm, while his other hand held on to the sword on the ground beside him. Bjorn nudged his cheek with his nose but received nothing in response. He huffed and nudged again, this time earning an incoherent mumble as the human rolled onto his back.

“Bjorn…” Everil warned gently, casting hopeless eyes upon her dog. “Leave the man alone. Don’t be rude.”

Ignoring her words, the war hound rose upon his hind legs and brought his full weight upon Alistair’s unguarded gut. The Warden shot up with a breathless grunt, the dog’s pounce forcing all the air out of him.

“Bjorn!” she scolded.

“Bl… Bloody…!” He coughed, folding over as he tried to regain the ability to breathe. 

Duncan let out a chuckle, eyes laughing at the sight. “Well, he’s up now. Good work.”

“Ugh…Good morning to you too…” Alistair’s irritated glare followed the dog as it trotted back to his mistress, who was shaking her head as if it were a misbehaving child. Bjorn simply wagged his stubby tail, obviously pleased with himself in spite of the disapproving look she was giving him.

“I’m sorry...” Everil offered him an apologetic smile, fingers scratching behind her hound’s ear. “Mabari hounds can be too smart for their own good.”

He shot the dog a dirty look, still nursing his now sore abs. “Yeah... Seems they can be real bullies too...”

The hound ignored him, panting happily.

“At any rate, I should probably go change before we go.” She pushed herself up, careful to cover herself as she walked towards the nearby foliage.

Behind the cover of the brush, she promptly took off the borrowed shirt and slipped into her clothes and armor. Then Everil fixed her hair, pulling up the top half of it and expertly securing it while allowing the rest to flow down her back. She held up the shirt, picking off the dirt and twigs stuck to it before folding it neatly. When she returned Duncan had already quartered their meal and was about to hand a piece to Alistair.

“Here…” She walked over and offered him the garment back. “Thank you again for letting me borrow it. It was quite warm.”

He looked up at her from where he sat, taking the bundle with a smile. “Sure. Glad it helped.”

Duncan watched the exchange with interest, inwardly pleased to see the two getting along well. Recruiting didn’t always go seamlessly. Characters often clashed, which could make working together difficult. In this case, there weren’t many Grey Warden women, and the few who were weren’t even in Ferelden. There were more prominent reasons why, but some of the most superficial, yet widespread, were the preconceived weaknesses behind the gender. This made it difficult for most men to work together with them. He was glad at least Alistair wasn’t as shallow-minded. Although, he knew her obvious display of strength back in Highever had done more than enough to prove the stereotypes wrong.


	6. The Ruins of Ostagar

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he rest of the journey south _ was largely uneventful, their conversations revolving around darkspawn and the Blight. Everil had observed the interactions between her two companions, their relationship vaguely reminding her of a father and a son. To her, Duncan was obviously the tough love sort of leader, firm and down to business, yet with a good heart. 

Alistair seemed to be the kind, loyal, and dutiful sort. Committed to their cause. She found that he was a lot like her in some ways. At times coating serious matters with humor, while Duncan fruitlessly tried to hide his amusement behind disapproving sighs. Still, despite pretending to take matters lightly, the way he spoke of their work said otherwise.

After nearly a month of traveling on foot—and occasionally via carriage rides offered to them by friendly travelers—a fortress began to appear in the distance. She could see the obvious signs of wear and tear from the hundreds of years of weather erosion. And despite that and the additional damage obviously caused by past battles, it still looked solid and capable of defending an army. They were nearing the ruins when a group of soldiers emerged from the gates, marching towards them.

“Oh, look!” called Alistair with a sarcastic grin. “They're sending us a welcome party!”

Following his line of vision, Everil looked towards the incoming men. The king himself was heading towards them, escorted by two of his knights. He was young, in his late twenties, the same age as her older brother. Golden armor shone brightly under the glare of the afternoon sun, while his long, blond mane flowed with the wind around his handsome face. Everil still remembered that image from the few times she visited the royal palace and felt a slight sense of relief upon seeing his familiar features.

“Duncan! Welcome back!” The king’s cheerful grin made him look even younger.

“King Cailan! I didn’t expect—”

“A royal welcome?” Cailan jested as he shook the commander’s forearm. “I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun.”

“Not if I can help it, Your Highness.”

“Then I will have the mighty Duncan at my side in our last great battle to save all of Ferelden. Glorious!” Cailan excitedly proclaimed with open arms before regarding the other Warden. “Alistair! Good to see you back. I hope your journey was an interesting one.”

He stiffly bowed to their monarch. “You have no idea, your Majesty.” 

The king then looked past the two of them to the one standing in the back, brows going up in surprise. “Everil? Is that you?”

She gave him a polite bow of the head. “Yes, sire. It has been some time.”

“It certainly has. I didn't expect to see you with the Grey Wardens. Are you their new recruit?”

“Yes... I am.”

“Well, they chose well,” he chuckled, fists on his hips. “I guess those times you watched your brother and I spar paid off. That little girl from back then would beg us to teach her how to swing a blade.”

She smiled weakly. “Well, I never was one to play with dolls.”

“That’s certainly true.” He let out another laugh.

Alistair eyed the two curiously, vaguely noticing the familiarity with which they spoke. The hierarchy in Ferelden’s nobility was clear and somewhat organized, though outsiders would probably think otherwise. Power in the country did not quite rest solely on one man, as it did on some other nations throughout Thedas. Though the king ruled over all, he depended heavily on the fealty and support of the rest of the nobility. And it was in the Landsmeet—the gathering of the entire noble class—that he was expected to gain and maintain the favor of his sworn vassals. There, the lords argued and voted on decisions that would affect everyone. To the point where their united voices even had the ability to topple a king’s rule. 

The Couslands had once carried a great deal of influence in the Landsmeet, thus it was natural for them to keep a close relationship with the crown. Teyrns could only be named by a king and were responsible for a large portion of his territory, rising over arls and banns whose fealty they also maintained. Arls were next in rank, holding smaller homesteads, some serving beneath a teyrn. The banns followed down the chain as individual rulers under the arls. And if the arling resided in a teyrnir, then they also served the teyrn. Such order mostly kept the peace amongst the lords and helped foster cooperation during times of crisis, as each ruler was expected to provide aid and resources to their respective vassals.

“At any rate…” Everil found herself unable to hold back the question any longer. “Your Majesty, did my brother make it to Ostagar?”

“Yes, just about a week ago.” Cailan’s brow furrowed upon noticing the swift change in her mood. “Which reminds me... I expected your father would be here by now. Where is he?”

A brief pause followed as she cast her gaze upon the ground. “He's… dead…”

“What...?” His blue eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Arl Howe of Amaranthine…” She drew in a shuddering breath. “He and his men attacked Highever Castle. He betrayed my father and killed him and my mother while our troops were away. I would have died too, had it not been for the Grey Wardens.”

“Your parents…” he murmured in shock, the news still dawning on him. “W-What of your brother’s family?”

She wore her lip and looked away in silence.

Revulsion promptly befell his features, mixed with an anger rarely seen by his subjects. “I… I can scarcely believe it… Did Howe honestly think I would let him get away with such treachery!” Cailan scowled and stepped closer to her before placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “His actions will not go unpunished. As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “I want his head. Let me kill him myself, Your Highness.”

“I know you are angry,” he spoke calmly, regarding her with kind eyes. “And you have every right to be. But the rest of the nobility may not look kindly upon you if you act on your own. Even if he is the guilty party.”

“But—”

His stern look silenced her. “Your father told you to come to me, no?”

“I… Yes, sire.”

“Then do as I say and let me handle it.” Cailan softened his stare. “Now, I imagine you wish to tell Fergus what happened. Unfortunately, he is out in the field scouting at the moment. I hope you can understand that I can't send for him until this is over.”

Everil closed a hand into a fist, hanging her head. “I am not eager to tell him…”

“Of that, I have no doubt… But for now, I suggest you vent your grief against the darkspawn.”

She nodded mutely.

He sighed regretfully. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I should head back to my tent. Loghain no doubt waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies.”

“Your uncle sends his regards and reminds you that Redcliffe’s soldiers will be here in less than a week,” said Duncan, drawing the king’s attention.

“Hah! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We’ve won several battles against these monsters, and tomorrow will be no different.”

“Are things going that well?” Everil questioned, unsure. Based on what she heard from her father, they were supposed to be fighting a horde of monsters. That he was speaking so nonchalantly about it all seemed to contradict the Wardens themselves.

“I’m not even sure this is a true Blight,” the king replied, seemingly annoyed. “There have been plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas there has been no sign of an Archdemon.” 

“Disappointed, your Majesty?” asked Duncan, arching an eyebrow at the young monarch. 

Cailan spun to look at the fortress behind him, its solid walls towering over the forest below. “I had hoped for a war, like in the tales. A brave king fighting alongside the fabled Grey Wardens against the Blight…” He shook his head with a sigh and returned his gaze to them. “But I suppose this will have to do. I should go now before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens.” He nodded at her. “Lady Everil.”

“Your Majesty,” Everil uttered as they all bowed. The three of them watched him head back across the massive bridge ahead, his retinue close behind him. She craned her head to her companions. “King Cailan didn’t seem concerned about the darkspawn. What makes this a Blight, exactly?”

“Despite our victories, the number of darkspawn is increasing to the point where they threaten to outnumber us,” Duncan answered gravely. “Only an Archdemon can command forces this large. But we have yet to see it in the Wilds… So although I believe there is an Archdemon behind this, I cannot make the king act solely on our suspicion.” He gestured for the bridge, urging them to continue walking to the king’s camp.

“Why not? He seems to regard you highly.” Everil trekked next to him, Alistair and her hound trailing after them.

“Yet not highly enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. We are too few in Ferelden, yet he thinks our legend alone makes him invulnerable. This is why we will have to look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference.”

Teyrn Loghain. The Hero of River Dane. She had heard plenty of stories about him since her youth. He was a hero throughout the kingdom—the farm boy who helped their king reclaim his throne and free Ferelden from the Orlesian usurper who enslaved his people. King Maric Theirin, Cailan’s father, had rewarded him with land and the title of teyrn soon after the war. Everyone knew who he was and what he did to ensure their freedom. She had the honor of meeting him a few times during social gatherings before but had never truly spoken to him.

“All right. What do I need to do?” she asked firmly.

“You will undergo the Joining Ritual, as all Grey Wardens have,” the senior Warden responded before stopping at the end of the bridge and turning to them. “Before we begin, I need you two to fetch the other recruits. Alistair knows who they are. Once you find them, meet me at our camp. Your hound can stay with me in the meantime.”

They parted ways, with Duncan and Bjorn heading towards a large bonfire at the far end of the fortress. She followed him with her eyes, then craned her around to observe the king's camp. Several tents were erected throughout an open field within the walls of Ostagar, all seemingly sectioned by where they hailed from. A yellow tent could be seen off to the left in its own corner, the bright burlap clashing with the dreary grey and brown of its surroundings. A flag with the royal seal of the two mabari dogs facing each other flew over it, marking it as being that of the king. Some soldiers sparred a distance from it, clashing their weapons while others watched. A few feet to the right was another tent, the burlap the color of the sky as the flag of a yellow drake hung over it—the coat of arms for the Gwaren teyrnir, belonging to Teyrn Loghain's family. More soldiers were formed outside, while some sat by campfires nearby. Barking could be heard coming from the kennels in the same direction, no doubt originating from the mabari hounds they were to use in battle.

The voice of a chanting woman also reached her ears as a Chantry sister stood upon a platform near the center of the camp, praying to the Maker for the soldiers who knelt before it on the ground. Her eyes continued to the right, seeing more tents and more men. Then she craned her head up to look at the open sky over them, mesmerized as the jagged edges of the ruins seemed to touch the clouds. Ostagar was certainly imposing, fit for battle despite centuries of exposure to the elements. It seemed they were already using it well.

“I told you it was a good defensive position,” she heard Alistair say next to her, drawing her attention. 

“Yes. It's incredible.”

He nodded and motioned for her to follow. “Come on. I think I have an idea where the others are.”

“Before we go... I have a question,” she said, taking a step to him. 

He paused, facing her. “Yes?”

“What is involved in this Joining Ritual Duncan mentioned? And why are there no details of it in books?”

Alistair reached up to scratch the back of his head. “I’m afraid I can't tell you. It’s sort of… A secret. Which is exactly why there are no records of it.” 

She gave him a critical eye, hands on her hips. “A secret? You seemed eager to talk to me about the Grey Wardens before. Why is this an issue?”

“Look…” he sighed, regarding her with an apologetic look. “I wish I could tell you. I really do. But none of us is allowed to discuss it with anyone who hasn't already undergone the ritual. All I can say is that it’s dangerous and unpleasant. I’m sorry.”

Everil pursed her lips, not exactly liking his answer. “Very well....”

Throughout the weeks of travel with the two men, she hadn’t really questioned how one became a Grey Warden. The warriors held a great deal of history, yet they were very secretive about the inner workings of their order. No one knew what abilities they really held or how they obtained them. The mystery brought on rumors and legends she was not sure were true, but only added to the allure of joining their ranks. However, it also sparked antipathy in many people, which was part of the reason her mother was not exactly warm towards them. The only common knowledge in existence was that they accepted skilled recruits with any background—even criminals—and that they were relentless when it came to defeating darkspawn and Blights. Sometimes resorting to non-so-heroic deeds to stop them.

The pair went in the opposite direction as Duncan, heading towards a group of tents set up at one corner of the ruins. They passed a couple and she stopped upon seeing people in robes gathered in a circle outside their campsite. She observed them curiously as they summoned some sort of flowing energy from a pedestal in the middle of their circle. It was filled with a glowing blue substance, the light of it almost mystifying. 

“Mages,” Alistair quietly answered her unspoken question.

“I've never seen one before… I thought they were not allowed outside the Circle of Magi?”

“They had to make an exception at the king’s request. And let’s just say the Chantry isn’t too happy about it.” 

Everil heard many things about mages, particularly that they were dangerous and prone to demonic possession. This was supposedly due to their connection to the Fade—the world where demons and spirits resided, as well as where consciousness went when one dreamed in their sleep. But she also heard mages were incredibly skilled and powerful, useful traits when utilized for good.

She sent him an inquisitive stare. “Why does the Chantry not approve? Do they think the mages will become possessed while outside the Circle?”

“That and they don’t like mages, period. They just  _ love _ letting them know how unwelcome they are anywhere they go,” he voiced in a sarcastic tone as they resumed their stroll through the camp. “To them, they're walking disasters waiting to happen. Prone to abusing their powers if left unchecked. That's why they lock them away. To keep the rest of the world safe… by their logic, anyways.”

_ Seems a little harsh to me…  _ she thought sympathetically. 

When they turned a corner, a young woman wearing red robes was hurriedly heading towards them. The Chantry's golden symbol of the flaming sword gleamed over her chest, marking her as one of their sisters. “Ser Alistair!”

He groaned upon seeing her. “Ugh, I think I just summoned them...”

The girl stopped before them, hands clasped together over her skirts. “Ser Alistair? The Revered Mother wishes to speak with you.”

The Warden quirked an eyebrow. “Why would she need me? Shouldn't she be calling for Duncan, instead?”

“I don't know, ser. She only told me to come fetch you as soon as she heard you'd returned.”

Everil blinked up at him. “Word spreads quickly around here...”

“Yeah… I’ll be right back,” he sighed irritably.

“I’ll be here.” She smiled a little, watching him follow the nun. 

Letting out a huff, Everil gazed around warily, itching to go out and look for her brother. To tell him what happened and make sure he was safe. But despite the tightness in her chest, she knew her hands were tied. And just when she thought she could trust her Grey Warden rescuers, it seemed they had a few surprises in store for her. She just hoped to live long enough to see Fergus again.  _ I must… I have to at least tell him about Oriana and Oren. _

A few moments of silence followed as she waited with arms crossed until a loud clatter coming from behind her startled her out of her thoughts. Everil turned, spotting an old woman on her knees while trying to lift a box. She wore similar robes the mages did, made of grey-blue wool and trimmed with white fur. “Are you all right?” she asked as she stepped towards her and knelt to help pick up the glass bottles scattered over the ground.

The woman met her gaze with surprise. She had pale, wrinkled skin and snow-white hair that showed her age pulled into a ponytail and away from warm blue eyes. She reminded her of her grandmother, a lady whose kindness knew no bounds. 

“Oh yes, thank you. I misjudged the weight and almost made a mess out of these lyrium potions,” the old woman said in a gentle voice, then chuckled with embarrassment. “You would think I would know better by this point. We use them to help cast our spells all the time.”

Everil offered her a small, friendly grin. “It’s all right. Let me help you. You hold that end and I will hold this one.”

“You are too kind.” 

They both hoisted up the box before walking it over to a nearby table, carefully setting it down. “Thank you, child.” The elder woman ran a hand over her forehead and gave Everil an inquisitive stare. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you perhaps the new recruit Duncan brought?”

“Yes. And I take it you’re one of the mages? Will you all be fighting in the front lines?”

“No, we’ll be assisting from the rear. We’re defenseless when casting spells, so we are no good for front line assignments,” she explained and straightened up, dipping her head. “Now, since you assisted me, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Wynne. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

She returned the gesture. “The pleasure is mine. I’m Everil.”

“Such a pretty name. Simple, yet pleasant to pronounce.” Wynne’s smile broadened. “Your order will be fighting alongside the king, it seems. Please watch yourself out there.”

Everil smiled. “I will...”

A male voice disrupted their exchange. “How utterly insulting of you!”

The two women looked towards the source in time to see one of the mages glaring daggers at Alistair, who didn't seem at all fazed by it. 

“I don't mean it in that way, Ser Mage,” he calmly told the man. “I'm only delivering a message from the Revered Mother.”

“We mages are too busy for this! Helping you Grey Wardens at the king’s request, I might add.”

Alistair put on teasing a grin. “Should I have asked her to write a note?”

“Your glibness does you no credit,” the mage bit out angrily. “Fine... I shall go talk with the woman if I must. Move aside, fool!” He stalked past him, heading towards the Chantry’s tents at the other side of the camp.

“And here I thought we were getting along so well!” Alistair called after him, a hand by his mouth “I was even going to name my firstborn after you! The ugly one!” The mage ignored him, waving him off before disappearing behind a group of soldiers walking by. 

Meanwhile, Everil approached him with a puzzled frown. “What was that?”

“Oh, nothing…” He moodily folded his arms. “The Revered Mother knows I used to be a Templar, so she suddenly felt the need to use me as her messenger.”

“Wait… Aren’t Templars the knights who protect the Chantry, guard the Circle of Magi, and hunt mages?”

He paused. “Yes. That’s right...”

“And you were one of them?” Everil curiously looked him over. “I can't imagine the Chantry would easily let one of their knights go so easily.”

Alistair let out a humorless chuckle. “Yep. Long story...”

She tilted her head. “So why did you deliver that message if you knew it would anger him?” 

“You should try saying no to the Revered Mother. I’m sure you’ll enjoy sitting through her sermons as much as I did. Not to mention Duncan said we should try to cooperate and get along. Obviously not everyone got the same speech...” he uttered in annoyance before giving her an anxious grin. “You know, I’m glad you’re not a mage. I think it would have made the situation even more awkward.”

“Yes. It definitely would…” she chortled lightly.

“Well, come on. Let's find the others before we get sidetracked again.”

They crossed the mage camp, heading south through the ruins. Soldiers chatted as they passed them by, all seemingly in good spirits despite all the battles they likely witnessed. More Chantry sisters also strolled along their path, carrying buckets of water and loaves of bread under one arm. Then they could see what seemed to be a blacksmith’s workshop in a corner, bordered by wooden pikes and with pieces of armor and weapons stacked on top of wooden crates. An anvil sat at the center as a rugged man banged on a sword with his hammer. 

“There he is…” Alistair muttered to himself, spotting a man by the smithy as he led her towards him. He was a rogue with sun-kissed skin and black hair pulled into a ponytail. His lean body was clad in leather armor and he carried two daggers at his sides. The man was speaking to a female soldier who was standing guard outside the makeshift workshop. 

“What do you say we go grab a drink by the fire?” He wiggled his brows with a seductive smile. “Maybe we can warm each other tonight too… We’re about to fight darkspawn, after all. It could be our last night alive.” The woman crossed her arms and silently narrowed her green eyes at him, blonde hair up in a bun. She was clad in chainmail, with a sword almost as long as he was tall. 

“Shall I take that cold stare as a no?” He grinned, clearly unaffected by the rejection. “If that’s the case, it’s your loss…”

“Hey, Daveth. You should probably stop before you get your head chopped off.”

The rogue spun to look at the grinning Grey Warden behind him. “Well, I see you and Duncan are back.” His eyes shifted to the woman standing beside him, a smirk spreading over his face at the sight of her. “Who’s the pretty little lady next to you?”

Everil reached out for a handshake. “I’m Everil. The new recruit. Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine...” Daveth smirked mischievously, taking her armored hand and bending over to give it a kiss. She withdrew her arm with a disgusted look. Many noblemen had kissed her hand like that in a gesture of respect, but this man clearly had other intentions.

“How odd though. I didn’t think you Wardens accepted women in your ranks,” Daveth said to Alistair, ignoring her glare.

“I can handle myself better than some men, so don’t concern yourself with what’s between my legs,” Everil rigidly interjected. “All you have to do is watch my back and I will watch yours.” 

He snickered lecherously. “Oh, but I most certainly will watch your back.”

“Right…” Her eyes darkened. “Just don’t get too distracted back there…”

“Anyway!” Alistair cut in this time, drawing the rogue’s attention and possibly saving his life in the process. “Have you seen Ser Jory?”

“Yeah… He’s somewhere up over there,” he answered with a bored tone, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Said he needed some time to pray or something…”

“All right. Let’s go get him.” Alistair stepped towards a set of stairs as the two of them followed him. They climbed the stone steps to what appeared to be a plaza of sorts, with a statue of a praying woman at the center and soldiers gathered around her. Another Chantry sister was chanting to the men, bestowing upon them her blessing. The injured were being treated a distance to the left, more nuns tending to their wounds as they moaned and groaned in pain. Everil sent the wounded a sympathetic look while they walked, seeing the agony on their faces even from afar.

“Ser Jory!” Alistair called as they approached the statue.

A man in armor rose from his knees and Jory turned to face them with raised, thick brows. He was a balding lad, probably in his early thirties, with ivory skin. He wore heavy iron plate armor and a large sword was sheathed at his back. “Ser Alistair. You’ve returned,” he greeted, stepping towards the group.

“Yeah. Here’s the new recruit we brought.” He gestured to her. “Everil, this is Ser Jory. He’s a knight from Redcliffe.”

“A pleasure.” She extended a hand.

“Good to meet you.” He shook it.

“Well, now that we’re all together, let’s head over to Duncan.” Alistair motioned for them to walk with him. 

The group made their way back down to the campsites, crossing the dirt road to the great hearth burning at the center of the ruins. Their Warden-Commander was standing beside it with arms crossed, Bjorn lying by his feet as he rested from their long journey. Duncan shifted his gaze to them as they grew near, patiently waiting for them to gather before him.

“Alistair. One of the mages came to me earlier with complaints…” he told him as he came to stand beside him.

“Ah…” the younger Warden released a breath. “So you heard about that already. What can I say? The Revered Mother ambushed me. With the way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army.”

“She forced you to sass the mages, didn’t she?” Duncan disapprovingly shook his head. “The position of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden is fragile, even after King Maric allowed our ranks to return from exile. We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. You must be mindful of this when dealing with our allies.”

“You’re right, Duncan. I apologize…”

Listening to the conversation, Everil observed the two, recalling what the history books said about the order. Grey Wardens were exiled from Ferelden during the Storm Age—two hundred years ago—for having attempted to overthrow the then King Arland Theirin at the request of the desperate nobles seeking their aid. The tyrant had ruled that period with an iron fist, taxing Ferelden’s people to the point of starvation and executing any who opposed him. Even members of her own family were killed by him when seeking to dethrone him. In fact, the Couslands took arms with the Grey Wardens during battles against the king’s armies. However, despite their efforts, they lost the rebellion and were massacred. At which point he decreed no Grey Wardens were to ever set foot in Ferelden again. Several generations of Ferelden’s rulers upheld the decree, being wary of the order and their intentions. Until their late king allowed them to return about twenty years ago.

“Now, to the matter at hand.” Duncan drew the attention of his recruits. “Before we can proceed with the Joining, you are to travel into the Korcari Wilds and complete two tasks. The first is the retrieval of three vials of darkspawn blood, which we will need for the ritual itself. Alistair will be going with you.”

Ser Jory stared at him with a frown. “What? We’re going into the Wilds to fight darkspawn? Is that not dangerous?”

“Facing such dangers will be part of your test. You must demonstrate that you have what it takes when fighting the vile creatures themselves.”

“And what’s the second task?” Everil asked.

Duncan reached into the pack at his side, pulling out a rolled-up piece of paper. “The second shall be for you to retrieve a number of scrolls from an old Grey Warden ruin in the Wilds.” He handed the document to Alistair. “This map holds its location. It should be fairly easy to find.”

She tilted her head. “What are the scrolls for?”

“They’re old Grey Warden treaties if you’re curious. Promises of support from the dwarves, mages, and elves of Ferelden, all signed centuries ago.” He crossed his arms, running a hand through his beard. “I thought perhaps they might prove useful in the coming days. If we were to ever require their aid, we can at least have something to remind them with.”

“I see… It sounds like we have our plan. Let’s get it done.”

“I agree,” Ser Jory said from beside her.

Duncan shifted his gaze to his apprentice. “Take care of your charges, Alistair. Be swift in your steps and return safely.”

He gave a firm nod. “We will.”

“May the Maker watch over your path,” their leader solemnly said to them, sending them on their way.

The party followed the dirt path heading towards the gates, passing by more soldiers who watched them as they went. Several guards were posted by the way to the Wilds, keeping watch for any threats to the camp from the outside. They were allowed out with a warning from the soldier, who shook his head as they disappeared into the wilderness beyond.


	7. The Korcari Wilds

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ W _ _ illow trees hung their arms _ over large pools of still water as the algae growing at the shores gave it a greenish tint. Alder and winterberry shrubs grew all around as cattail grasses sprouted along the waters, coloring everything in muted reds, browns, and greens. Nothing moved but the swaying branches and the brush, their shadows harboring hidden dangers threatening to strike at any unprepared traveler. They were the Korcari Wilds. A swampy wilderness filled with horrific legends that spoke of witches, barbarians, and from then on, darkspawn.

Only the bravest ever ventured this far south in Ferelden and rarely did they return alive. Those who did always carried with them horrific stories, giving rise to the rumors around it. The few people who could navigate the woods were the Dalish elves and the Chasind folk. Dalish elves were nomadic, pure-blooded in their own definition when compared to city elves. They sought the shelter of the forest and lived in harmony with their surroundings, which allowed them to tame the dangerous nature of the Wilds. The Chasind, however, were feared savages who prowled through the frigid swamp. They were said to massacre innocents without mercy, often to claim their wares or even resort to cannibalism. Anyone else risked getting lost in its traitorous trails, swallowed up alive by the beasts roaming behind the cover of their seemingly cursed forest.

The group of four pushed through the thicket blocking their path, their feet crunching over dried weeds and rock. Each of them warily glanced about, trying to see through the deceptive shapes as the musky smells of mud, wetness, and decay saturated their noses. The sound of creaking branches occasionally joined in their footsteps, adding to the unnerving sense of something unseen walking along with them.

“I can’t believe Duncan sent us out here like this,” Ser Jory muttered anxiously.

Daveth rolled his eyes at the knight’s display of fear. “We’re to become Grey Wardens—the very people who kill monsters for a living. Did you think they would coddle us instead?”

“No, but we don’t know what’s out there! There could be wilders… Beasts… Darkspawn could come out of the ground and eat us!”

“You are only making things worse on yourself. Just focus on the task at hand and we’ll make it back in one piece,” Everil instructed, walking ahead of the three men.

“How come we’re following the woman now?” Daveth had an amused expression, his grin spreading as he watched her hips sway with each step she took. “Not that I’m complaining. The view from back here is quite nice.”

“I was wondering that myself,” Ser Jory said with a puzzled stare.

Alistair glanced over his shoulder, sending them a mildly annoyed look as he followed behind her. She hadn’t brought up her former status, and it seemed she wasn’t planning to. If they knew who she was they likely would not be spewing such nonsense. It didn’t seem as if the remarks bothered her, however, continuing on in silence.

They walked for a mile or so until they began to see bloodstains on their path. The four looked up from the ground and to the carnage ahead, where cattle and men lay scattered over the dirt road. While guts and torn limbs hung from the surrounding vegetation, like macabre ornaments and decorations. Whatever had done the deed couldn’t possibly be human. And even if they were, their cruelty could be deemed nothing but monstrous. 

_ Maker… This is horrible…  _ she thought, the stench of rot making her stomach curl.

“Help…” came the faint whimper of an injured man, who was currently crawling over the ground some distance away. The party approached him cautiously, carefully observing their woods in case of an incoming ambush. Stab wounds covered the soldier as he bled over the dirt, clinging desperately to life. He looked up as they drew nearer, his face showing clear relief upon seeing the griffons on Alistair’s chest. 

“Grey Wardens? Thank the Maker…” He released a quivering breath, wincing in pain. “Please help me. Darkspawn… They came out of the ground… Killed everyone in my scouting party. I…I have to get back to camp.”

“We should help him.” Everil turned to Alistair. “Do you have anything we can use?”

“I have bandages in my pack.” He knelt over the wounded soldier, pulling out a roll of cloth before dressing the larger wounds he could see. It was nowhere near as good as what the man would receive from a healer, but it would do for now.

“Thank you…” The soldier stood weakly and limped past them. “Be careful out there…”

“Did you hear that?” Ser Jory’s fearful eyes shifted among the group. “Darkspawn killed a whole group of seasoned soldiers. There could be hundreds of them waiting ahead!”

“Calm down, Ser Jory,” said Alistair, giving him a composed stare. “While there are darkspawn about, we are safe from the bulk of the horde. Besides, they won’t be able to take us by surprise because Grey Wardens can feel them approach. That’s why I’m here.”

Daveth smiled wryly. “You see, Ser Knight? We might die, but at least we’ll be warned about it first.”

“Cowards...”

The two recruits shot Everil vexed looks. “Huh?”

She was looking at them with folded arms, her tone as cold as the swamp itself. “The way I see it, you have two choices. Continue with our task and help stop the Blight or go home to your mothers and cling to their skirts while the darkspawn kill everything in Ferelden.”

Daveth chuckled. “Fair point...”

“But…” Ser Jory shifted under her stare. “I have a wife with a child on the way back home…”

“And that makes you special? Other soldiers here have families waiting for them too. Yet they are here, doing their duty and fighting for their country. Now you seek to cower behind them, hoping their sacrifice will be enough to shield your family. Utterly pathetic.” She dismissively waved him off. “I don’t know what Arl Eamon saw in you when he knighted you, but I must say, I am not impressed.” 

A laugh escaped Daveth at the astonished look that fell on Ser Jory’s face.

“How dare you!” Ser Jory took a step, his face inches from hers. “I am a Knight of Redcliffe. I serve the king’s uncle and the crown!”

“Then prove you are worthy of that title!” she retorted, unflinching. “That you are man enough to uphold your duty!”

His defiant glare was fixed on hers. “You just watch, lady.”

“Oh, I plan to. And I fear I stand to be disappointed,” she shot back and kept walking along the path, stepping through the blood and gore ahead of the three men.

Ser Jory huffed angrily and stalked after her, hands curled into fists.

“Woah...” Daveth said breathlessly, a wide grin on his face. “I think I’m in love.”

Alistair was shocked too. The way she just used words to push a man into motion… It was impressive.  _ No wonder the teyrn had so much faith in her ability to command his people. _

They continued on, with Alistair eventually catching up to her and walking beside her. He glanced at her profile, seeing nothing but fearless focus as she kept her eyes set on the horizon. And after all she went through, it was clear to him Everil was much stronger than him in more ways than one.

“You know…” He leaned over so only she could hear him. “I don't believe I’ve ever met anyone like you before.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Is that so?”

“I was just thinking you seriously put those two to shame. They’ve been cowering since before we left, but you haven't complained about any of this once.”

“Some just handle fear differently, I suppose.”

As if on cue, a noise in the bushes made Ser Jory jump and reach for his sword. “Blasted!”

“Don't worry, Ser Jory…” Everil paused in her steps and turned to send him a small smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

He simply glared at her, color rising to his face as he attempted to regain his composure. The group resumed their trek, with the knight grumbling under his breath and Daveth grinning at her back.

Alistair leaned closer to her once more, playfulness in his voice. “I know I’m relying on you to protect me...”

A soft chuckle escaped her. “Are you trying to charm me?”

He grinned. “Maybe...”

She shook her head, a smile still on her lips. Everil refused to show it, but she was just as afraid as they were. Having heard nothing but terrifying tales of the monsters they were bound to fight. But the Grey Warden’s presence and sense of humor helped ease her anxiety. If only just a little. 

It wasn’t long before they ran into more death. And this time, the monsters appeared to have claimed a caravan of unfortunate travelers. Men, horses, and cattle lay scattered upon the ground everywhere they looked. All were dismembered and left to rot as their stench permeated the air around them. They gazed up as they walked, spotting three soldiers hanging from a tree above, bloated and with entrails dangling from gaping their guts. The scene sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, as it did the others with her.

“Poor slobs...” Alistair’s nose curled in disgust. “That just seems so… excessive.”

“No wonder people fear them so...” Everil murmured uncomfortably as they continued further. Daveth and Jory were fidgeting nervously, but this time she couldn’t fault them for it. Darkspawn obviously enjoyed killing and exposing their work for all to see. But there was more to it than just a display of brutal violence. It was psychological warfare. Mess with your enemy’s psyche enough, and you will drive away their will to fight. 

They were approaching a small ravine when Alistair froze, his arm shooting out to stop them from moving.

Daveth raised a brow. “What’s the hold-up?”

The Warden’s eyes narrowed. “They’re here...”

An arrow hit the ground by their feet, and their heads snapped up, gazes landing on a dwarf-sized creature currently preparing another from atop the hill overseeing their path.

“A genlock!” Alistair called, drawing his sword. 

Then more enemies emerged from the trees, these the size of human men, charging at them as they released hungry growls and snarls. 

“Aaand hurlocks too!”

They were as nightmarish as the tales described. Terrifying faces were the color of ash, with no lips, nose, or ears, jagged teeth stained with blood and dirt. Twisted iron and torn rags made their armor, their gear crafted in the pits of darkness by their own monstrous hands. Their weapons were warped and jagged, stained red from past kills. For a moment, Everil felt her resolve waver under their soulless stares, for she had never seen anything so sinister. So evil. There was nothing in those eyes. Nothing but the silent promise of a slow and painful death. Their deaths. 

The sound of strings tensing filled her ears as the creatures prepared arrows, training them upon them. And reality came rushing back before she found her words again. “Scatter!”

Her command had them scrambling in opposite directions, arrows hitting the ground where they once stood. Still running, she gave the battlefield a frantic look, taking in the enemy’s position. Her father’s training told her to eliminate the foes with long-range weapons first. To take away their advantage and focus on the rest. Without hesitation, she went up the hill and rolled as an arrow came too close to hitting her. Everil pulled out her dagger, rushing the first enemy and stabbing it in the neck as it reached back to pull out its axe. Quickly, she took from it its bow and quiver, before drawing an arrow and taking aim.

Alistair ducked, avoiding a swinging hammer aimed at his head. Then he hit the hurlock with his shield, throwing it off balance and causing it to stagger. He took the opportunity, running it through with his blade. His eyes went to the genlock above him. It fired an arrow at him and he quickly raised his shield to block it. As he brought it back down, he saw another arrow hit the same creature, causing it to fall from its perch. He looked towards Everil as she sent him a nod from above, then gave her a quick nod in response, before turning to engage the hurlock rushing towards him from the side.

As Everil was preparing another arrow, she heard a growl behind her. She quickly whirled around, with just enough time to drop the bow and pull out Elethea to block an attack. She gritted her teeth as it tried to overpower her, its hoarse laughter chilling her. This one was fully armored, with steel pieces seeming to have been carelessly put together. The edges were jagged and sharp, giving the hurlock an angry appearance. A helmet covered its face, but she could still see the row of sharp teeth dripping with drool and stained with grime. Her heart raced as she set her jaw and parried its axe, driving it into the dirt. It growled loudly, angrily plucking its weapon from the ground as Everil ran at it, swinging her sword. It blocked with the hilt of its weapon and shoved against her, making her stumble back. She saw it swing, crouched to dodge, and propelled herself forward, burying her dagger into its side. It screeched in pain, swinging at her with its fist as she dodged. Then she cried out, lunging forth and driving her sword into its face. 

Everil didn’t have time to celebrate though, as the genlock she had been aiming at before the hurlock interrupted was still standing. She ran towards it, running low as an arrow zipped past her head. Her blade found its neck, coming in with enough momentum to sever its head. Immediately after, she spotted another on a tree branch preparing an arrow, aiming it towards Daveth, who was busy dispatching another hurlock. She rolled, took the dead genlock’s bow, and while on one knee, quickly fired, hitting the mark. The archer dropped, landing in a heap on the ground below. 

Daveth looked up in time to see the arrow hit and the genlock fall and turned his gaze towards the source. He watched as she stood, with blood splatters all over her, and instantly regretted all he said about her. 

A hurlock rushed her, raising its hammer.

He took a step. “Look out!”

Everil was ready to turn and attack, but someone hit it first, sending it stumbling back. Ser Jory stood behind her, drawing back his fist before he brought his great sword down in one powerful swing. It cut right through the darkspawn, slicing its torso open as if it were made of warm butter.

She gave him a nod. “Thanks.”

Alistair wiped darkspawn blood and sweat off his cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes surveying his charges. Ser Jory seemed unhurt, Daveth appeared to be in one piece as well, while Everil was walking towards him, also unharmed. His shoulders relaxed. They’d survived their very first encounter. 

“So those were darkspawn,” she muttered. 

“Aren't they lovely?” He smiled at her while putting away his sword. “I'm glad to have finally introduced them to you.”

“Yes... I will remember this day for the rest of my life,” she half-joked, running her fingers through her blood-stained hair and grimacing in disgust at the stench.

“I'm sure you will.” Alistair pulled a few vials from his side pack. “Here. We should collect the darkspawn blood now.”

“Right.” She took a vial from his hand as the others approached them.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

They arrived at the ruins of a tower, which seemed to have fallen apart over centuries of neglect. Roots and vines winded through nooks and crannies, forcing their way through the stone and creating wide cracks that ran up what was left of the walls. Silence was its only resident, disrupted only by their echoing footsteps as they carefully explored the crumbling remains.

“So this is the Grey Warden tower in the wilds? Don't look like one much anymore,” Daveth commented, looking around at the rubble.

“It was abandoned centuries ago. Too remote and dangerous to maintain,” Alistair said as he climbed up some broken steps, followed closely by the others before they entered an open room.

“Dangerous is a good word,” Ser Jory added, promptly kicking a rock and turning it over.

Everil stepped closer to the Grey Warden, searching the area with her eyes. “What makes you think these scrolls are still here?”

“Duncan said they were magically sealed in a chest so only a Warden could open it. It should be close by…”

“I found it!” Jory raised a hand to them from a far corner in the ruins. They jogged towards him, stopping to cast their eyes down at a broken old trunk. It was cracked wide open and left easily accessible.

“So much for those seals…" Everil muttered while kneeling to search inside, and after a moment, a troubled look dawned upon her. “Uhm…”

“What's wrong?” Alistair asked as he knelt next to her, picking up parts of the chest and releasing a disappointed groan. “Oh, damn it… They were stolen!”

“Well, well... What have we here?”

All heads shot up in alert, their surprised stares landing on a woman who was casually standing on the floor above them. The strange girl cast cat-like, yellow eyes upon them, observing their every move with both curiosity and mistrust. Then she slowly made her way down the nearby steps, running delicate fingers along the stone railing as she went. “Intruders… Or perhaps scavengers?” she said in a sultry voice, reaching the lower level and taking two careful steps towards them. “Scurrying about these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey...”

Everil rose to her feet and turned to face her, gaze narrowing at the new arrival. She had an almost unnatural beauty about her. With pale, flawless skin and silky midnight hair, which was gathered into a bun. A single beauty mark lay upon her left cheek, resting just above full lips that were painted purple, the shade matching the magenta powder coloring her eyelids. Scraps of violet fabric hung over a delicate torso, barely covering her breasts and leaving close to nothing to the imagination. Long legs were clad in fitted trousers and a skirt, all made up of different straps of worn, black leather. A staff was also strapped to her back, a clear sign she also carried magical talents.

“What say you, hmm?” The mage folded her arms, regarding Everil and ignoring the rest. “Scavenger or intruder?”

“Neither.” She cast a defiant glare on her. “We're Grey Wardens and this tower once belonged to us.”

“‘Tis a tower no longer. The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse,” said the woman before she began to walk past them, moving with the grace and elegance of a feline. “I have watched your progress for some time. ‘Where do they go?’ I wondered. ‘Why are they here?’ Now, you disturb ashes none have touched for so long...” She spun to face them, inquisitively tilting her head. “Why is that?”

“Don't answer her,” Alistair said while cautiously eyeing the girl. “She looks Chasind and that means others may be nearby.”

“Oh?” The mage shot him an annoyed look, regarding the Warden with disdain. “You fear barbarians would—” She waved her arms for emphasis. “— _ swoop  _ down upon you?”

“Yes…” he muttered awkwardly. “ _ Swooping  _ is bad...”

Beside them, Daveth fidgeted anxiously on his feet. “She’s… She’s a Witch of the Wilds, she is. She’ll turn us all into toads!”

“Witch of the Wilds...” echoed the mage as an amused smirk spread upon her face. “Such idle fancies those legends. Have you no minds of your own?” She shifted her attention back to the only girl in their group. “You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

Everil's gaze met hers once more while she remained unafraid and unintimidated by the woman’s stare. If she had what they sought, it would do them no good to be rude. “My name is Everil. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Now, that is a proper civil greeting. Even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan.” She smiled at her, crossing both arms. “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest? Something that is here no longer?”

“Here no longer? You took them didn't you?” Alistair accused, glaring at her. “You’re some kind of… sneaky… witch-thief!”

Morrigan lifted a pointed nose at him. “How very eloquent… How does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily it seems...” His eyes turned to slits. “Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them.”

That earned him a dirty look. “I will not for ‘twas not I who removed them! Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer, if you wish. I am not threatened.”

“Our apologies,” Everil interjected softly. “We’re weary and wish to leave the Wilds. It’s possible those scrolls can help us fight the Blight, so we need to recover them at any cost. Do you know who took them?”

Morrigan paused for a moment, relaxing her posture. “'Twas my mother, in fact…”

“Can you please take us to her?”

“Now, there is a sensible request.” She chuckled lightly, then gave her an approving smile. “I like you…”

“I’d be careful…” warned Alistair. “First it's 'I like you', but then ‘zap!’ Frog time.”

Morrigan ignored him, still regarding her as a sinister grin spread over her lips. “I shall take you to my home then. But first, a word of caution to your cowering companions... Try anything foolish, and you risk being turned into a pile of burning corpses.” She spun around and began to walk. Everil followed, gaze trained upon her back as the men cautiously trailed behind her. 

They were led deeper into the Wilds, through the brush, and over swampy pools as cattail grasses swayed in the light, musky breeze. Silence once again hung over them as the mage trekked quietly ahead of them, her steps confident and sure as if she knew the woods like the back of her hand. It seemed she even belonged in this place, her appearance matching perfectly with the untamed nature surrounding her. They walked for an hour or so, the light from the low-hanging sun slowly fading, blocked by the thickening canopy. Feeling eyes upon them, Everil craned her head up to the bony branches hovering over them, their fingers reaching down to them from above. With a subtle frown, she returned her gaze to the strange girl, the uncomfortable sensation lingering in the back of her mind.

A rickety, old hut eventually emerged from behind the foliage, the shadows cast upon it by the trees giving it an eerie, sinister feel. The temperature around them seemed to drop as they grew nearer while not a single noise could be heard from the woods around them. An old hag with short, gray hair and dressed in rags was cooking over a fire just outside the hut, kneeling beside the flames while churning a bubbling stew. Sensing their approach, she gazed up from her task and stood, scrutinizing the group of strangers through cat-like eyes that mirrored those of their guide.

“Mother,” Morrigan called, stepping towards her. “I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—”

“I see them, girl,” she interrupted, voice withered by age. Her chapped lips curled into an unsettling smile when she regarded Everil, the foremost member of the party. “I take it you came to the Wilds in search of the old scrolls. Your Warden Commander is wise to seek them out. They may yet prove useful in the coming days.”

“How do you know all this? We haven’t even mentioned what we’re here for,” Alistair questioned with suspicion, standing just a step behind their female companion.

And she laughed, releasing a frightening cackle that sent shivers down their spines. “What else could it be, boy?” she said with a dark smile. “I doubt you were sent out here to fight the darkspawn horde on your own.”

“Fair point...” he muttered stiffly. 

Pale from fear, Daveth spoke quietly to Jory, yet not quietly enough. “She’s the dreaded Witch of the Wilds, she is… We shouldn't be talking to her!”

“Quiet Daveth!” Ser Jory shot back at the man, visibly nervous himself. “If she really is the Witch of the Wilds, do you want to make her mad?” 

“There’s a smart lad...” the hag told the men, yellow teeth showing through a wicked grin. Then she brought a curious gaze back to Everil. “And what of you? Does your woman’s mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?”

“I am no fool if that’s what you’re asking...” Everil answered, folding her arms with a cautious stare. There was obviously more to her than just a frail, old lady. She could feel it in the air around them and deep inside her gut. Whoever this was, she wasn’t someone to be trifled with.

“Well, if you must protest so quickly, then perhaps I need not ask.” The old bat cackled again, throwing her head back in mirth before her penetrating stare again met hers. A smirk spread upon her wrinkled face, her tone carrying an ominous tune. “But who knows…? Am I perhaps that which you fear? I may even be something more. Your minds will wonder even as you leave this place.” 

The daughter rolled her eyes, weary of her antics. “They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother. We should give them what they came for so they can be on their way.”

“Oh yes, the treaties... The old treaties." The old woman moved to the hut and stepped in. They could hear her muttering to herself as she shuffled about the house before emerging with a small bundle of scrolls in her quivering hands—all wrapped neatly in a clean cloth. 

“Here.” She handed them to Everil, who gingerly took them. “Your precious seal wore out long ago. I have protected these.”

“Thank you for returning them,” she said, offering her a grateful smile.

The hag chuckled at this. “Such manners… Always in the last place you look. Like stockings!”

Everil didn’t respond, giving her an odd look.

“Oh, do not mind me…” Another cackle escaped her. “You have what you came for.”

“Yes.” Morrigan gave a dismissive smile. “‘Tis time for you to go now.”

Her mother gazed sternly at her. “Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests. We must see them to the door, as any good hosts would.”

She sighed before speaking in a dry tone. “Very well… I shall see you out of the woods. Follow me.”

Still unsure, Everil glanced at the old woman one last time, then she and the men once again followed Morrigan as she let them away. They headed for the edge of the woods, leaving the hag behind as the old woman watched their retreating forms disappear behind the foliage. And none of them witnessed the glint in her eyes nor the wicked smirk dawning upon her withered face.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

With a tired breath, King Cailan leaned back against his chair, eyes tracing the elegant words on the paper in his hand. It was a letter from the Empress of Orlais, agreeing to work together to defeat the Blight. To say Loghain disliked the idea was a monumental understatement and the man had more than one valid reason for going against the decision. It had been over thirty years since his father took Ferelden back from Orlais. Too short a time when compared to the hundred years of suffering their people had to endure under their rule. Still, seeking the opportunity to make peace and gain allies was important. And they needed help now, regardless of the past.

The flap to his tent flew open, revealing the aforementioned man. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir stalked towards him on confident steps, blue eyes as hard as the steel plates he wore. Long, black hair was braided in places, framing his pale, battle-worn features. A sword and shield were strapped to his back, weapons he’d already used to down several darkspawn in the field.

“The scouts say the horde is on its way here,” Loghain announced in a stern voice, coming to stand before his desk. “They will arrive on schedule.”

“Good… Lothering is not far from here. It’s imperative we stop those creatures here, or it will be the first village to fall against them.” Cailan stood, walking towards the bottle of wine sitting on a small table beside his desk.

“Agreed. Teyrn Cousland’s men have helped thin their numbers, but they are returning with many casualties. I still doubt this is a true Blight, but we mustn’t underestimate them.”

The king nodded, taking a drink and looking over his shoulder at his father in law. “A shame he’s not here to see his lineage help win the war.”

“Yes… Most unfortunate.”

“Once we’re done here, I want us to look at what’s left of our forces and turn them against Howe for his actions.” Cailan set down his cup while moving to face him. 

“Should we not let the Landsmeet handle these matters, Your Highness?” Loghain’s stare followed him as he sat back down.

“I had called upon his forces for aid, and instead of complying, he takes it upon himself to use them against one of my teyrns. I would say that goes beyond the nobility’s justice, at this point.” He leaned forth, resting his chin in one hand while giving him a humorless smile. “Besides, I made a promise to Bryce’s daughter. And regardless of your opinion of me, I take my promises seriously.”

“I do not question your ability to keep your word, sire… Only your judgment.” Loghain held an irritated expression on his face. “Especially when it comes to my daughter.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?”

“Anora has told me of your… problems.” He reached down, picking up his quilt and twirling it between his fingers as he spoke. “She believes you are unable to produce an heir. Which is why you’ve yet to have children after so long. And so she is concerned over her future and that of the throne.”

“Great… I do everything she wants, and still, she comes to you with such nonsense.” Cailan released a heavy sigh, then met the teyrn’s hard gaze. 

“Nonsense? Without an heir, Ferelden may have no ruler after you. Perhaps you should consider other options.”

“I should consider...? How can you be so sure I'm the problem here?” Cailan arched a brow. “My wife has already taken other men to her chambers behind my back and has produced none either.”

Loghain slammed a hand down. “How dare you accuse her of such a thing!”

“Not a mere accusation! Not when the entire castle staff whispers of it every time they think I'm not listening.” He sighed in irritation, shaking his head. “Look, I’m not about to discuss this issue with you, Loghain. The problems between Anora and myself are ours and ours alone. So I suggest you stay out of it.”

He remained silent, sharp eyes still upon him.

“Now, if you have nothing else…” Cailan gestured to the tent’s door. “I have business to attend to.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” He bowed stiffly, glancing over the desk. His scowl deepened upon seeing the letters over it, but he said nothing, turning to walk away. Another man walked in just as he was leaving. This time it was Elric Maraigne, Cailan’s confidant and one of the men in charge of guarding him. He gave the passing Loghain a curt bow, one that went ignored as the teyrn reached the doorway and roughly opened the flap.

“Did I interrupt, my liege?” He turned to Cailan. “I am terribly—”

“Nothing of the sort.” The king’s face lit up with a smile. “Loghain’s just doing what he does best. Argue with me.” He stood and walked to the door, lifting the flap just enough to say something to his guard before securing it. Then he motioned for him to follow. “Elric, what do you think of the war so far? Have you heard anything we don't already know?” he asked quietly, gesturing to a wooden chair nearby.

The old man sat as instructed. “I… Overheard the Grey Wardens were concerned about the sheer number of darkspawn coming our way. They don't have high hopes for tomorrow's battle.”

“I see…” He didn't seem surprised. “Elric, you are the one person I trust most. And there’s something I must ask of you… Something very important.”

The servant regarded his young king with concern. “Of course, your Majesty.”

Cailan reached into his collar, producing a thin chain out from under his armor and pulling it over his head. Elric watched quietly as he took the letters he’d been reading and folded them neatly, only to put them in a large steel trunk nearby. He reached for the sword at his hip, unsheathing it and placing it inside before closing the chest and locking it with the key.

“Your Majesty?” Elric’s grey brows formed a frown as the king stepped to his desk and took a seat. 

“This may sound odd to you…” He smiled at the older man while offering the key. “But I want you to keep this.”

Elric took it with a confused expression. “What do you need me to do with it, sire?”

The king’s smile slowly faded into a somber look. “Keep it hidden from everyone for now. No one but you should know of it. If… If we fail to defeat the darkspawn tomorrow, I want you to seek out Grey Warden Alistair and deliver it to him directly.” 

“Grey Warden Alistair…” Elric echoed softly while slowly sliding on the chain. He couldn’t quite understand what was happening, but the conversation made his chest feel heavy with dread.

“If I die, the contents of that chest may help save Ferelden,” Cailan uttered as he looked down at his hands, lacing his fingers together. “And he… He will be the best man suited to undertake that responsibility.”

“But, King Cailan… I thought you said victory was certain.” Elric clutched the key, his knuckles turning white. He had known the young prince since he was but a child, their relationship being more than that of a servant and his lord. He dared say he was even like a son to him, especially after King Maric passed away.

Cailan simply smiled once more. “Go see how the soldiers are doing. I want to make sure they’re prepared.”

“Yes, my liege…” Elric rose to his feet and bowed to him with a troubled stare. Heart heavy in his chest, he turned on his heel and walked to the door, one hand covering the spot where the key now lay hidden under his armor.


	8. The Battle of Ostagar

⚜

  
  
  
  


_T_ _hey reached Ostagar without_ further trouble. As they arrived, the guards posted outside opened the gates for them, allowing the bloodied, worn-out group entrance back into the relative safety of the fortress walls. Everil led them back to their Warden-Commander, who still waited for them by the bonfire near the Grey Warden camp.

“Good. You have returned,” Duncan greeted them as they approached. “Have you been successful in retrieving the scrolls?”

Alistair frowned. “Barely… A crazy old apostate had them.”

“An apostate?”

“Two of them. They seemed to have been living in the Wilds for a long time. Probably hiding from the Chantry and their Templars.” 

“That is not our concern,” Duncan said sternly. “You are not a Templar any longer, Alistair. Let us focus on the task at hand.” 

“Of course...” Alistair replied quietly. “What do we do with the scrolls?”

“Hold on to them for now.” He then turned to the rest of the group. “While you all were gone, I had the Circle mages prepare the rest of what is needed. We are ready to commence immediately.”

“Let's just get it over with,” Everil responded firmly.

“I agree, let's have it done,” Ser Jory joined in.

“Good. That is the attitude you will need to face what is to come,” said Duncan, then he shifted his gaze back to Alistair. “Take them to the old temple. I will finish up the preparations and join you shortly.”

“Understood,” he replied and gestured for them to follow. 

Soon it was just the four of them once more, gathered away from prying eyes and in the hidden chamber of a crumbling temple just outside the king’s camp. Everil couldn't deny the secrecy around what they were about to do was unnerving, but it seemed she had no other choice but to proceed. She looked to the others around her. Each of them had their own reasons to live, but they were all in the same situation as her, and that knowledge alone made it a little easier to deal with.

“I don't like this,” Ser Jory muttered uncomfortably, fidgeting on his feet. “I thought we already proved our worth. Why another test? And why all the secrets?”

“Maybe they just want to annoy you…” Daveth teased with a smirk, hands resting on his hips.

“I'm sure there is more we’re not being told…” Everil gazed pointedly towards Alistair. “But there’s really nothing more we can do.” 

He gave her an apologetic look in response.

Footsteps made the four companions turn their heads to Duncan as he approached, a silver chalice resting in his hands. He placed the cup on a nearby table, then solemnly regarded the group. “This ritual has been performed since the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint. Those before us followed in their footsteps and so did we before you.”

“Wait…” Ser Jory took a step back, mortified by the revelation. “We’re going to drink the blood of those… Those creatures?”

“Drinking darkspawn blood makes us immune to the deadly illness that comes from being exposed to their taint for too long. It also gives us the ability to detect them from afar,” Alistair responded quietly. “You’ll see… If you survive.”

“If we survive?” Daveth asked with a furrowed brow. “Just how much danger are we in?”

“I will not lie to you…” Duncan said grimly. “Not all recruits make it through the Joining, and those who do are forever changed. It is the price we pay... But fate may decree you pay it now, rather than later.”

“But I have a wife and a child on the way…” Ser Jory’s anxious stare went to him. “If you had warned me…”

“If they had warned you, you probably wouldn’t have come,” Everil told him sternly as she folded her arms. “I may not like it, but they are doing what they must. Otherwise, no one would be willing to make whatever sacrifices are necessary to protect mankind from the Blight.”

“You're right,” Daveth said as he scratched his chin. “I don't think I would've ever joined had Duncan not conscripted me when the Denerim guards threatened to take me in. I was sure to die of hanging, anyway. I guess at least this would have some honor to it.”

“I just…” Jory sighed, looking at the ground. “I have never fought a foe I could not engage with my blade…”

Duncan’s somber voice soon followed, reverence in his tone. “We say only a few words before we begin. Alistair, if you will.”

Alistair cast his eyes upon the floor, repeating words almost sacred. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you.”

The Warden-Commander then took the chalice and approached the first recruit. “Step forward, Daveth.”

The rogue's jaw set and he took a confident step. No further questions were asked as he received the chalice and drank a single gulp from it. Everil watched intently from behind, waiting for a reaction when suddenly Daveth let out gurgling coughs. He folded over, scratching at his throat as if it were burning. She lowered her arms and retreated a few steps as they witnessed their companion convulse in agony, the sight leaving her rooted to the spot. He fell on his knees and then to the floor, his body shaking as he struggled to breathe.

“I am sorry, Daveth…” Duncan regretfully gazed at the man, watching as he slowly died before slowly facing Ser Jory. 

What remained of the knight's courage faded the moment his stare landed on him. His terrified eyes went to Daveth's corpse, feet shuffling back as he fearfully spoke. “But I have a wife... A child…”

Everil couldn't utter a word of encouragement at this point, for even with all her gallantry, she too was now afraid of that chalice.

Showing no emotion, Duncan kept approaching the knight, cornering him to a wall. “There is no turning back.”

“N-No!” Ser Jory fearfully went for his greatsword. “You ask too much! There is no glory in this!”

Silently narrowing his eyes, Duncan set down the cup and drew his own weapon as the knight cowered and raised his blade. The Warden moved in with the same swift precision he used on any enemy, striking like a serpent. He easily deflected Jory’s panicked swing, then buried his dagger into his gut without pause. Jory dropped his blade and grabbed on to him, releasing a muted cry when Duncan twisted his weapon.

Everil watched in consternation as the knight sank to the floor, gasping for air as his blood pooled underneath him. Her heart beat wildly, her survival instincts kicking in and telling her to run away and save herself. But she willed her feet to stay put as Duncan now set his sights upon her. 

Gone was the warmth his eyes once held, replaced by the chilling focus of a predator as Ser Jory’s blood stained his armor. “Everil. Come forth.”

The girl felt herself gulp. There appeared to be a fifty-fifty chance that she was going to die. And yet she still had unfinished business. Still had to talk to Fergus and help him take back what was once theirs. She had to avenge her family, her soldiers, her castle staff. 

But as Everil reached for that chalice, and saw the unwavering commitment in Duncan’s eyes, she realized none of that truly mattered. Memories of the dismembered bodies in the Wilds flooded her mind, reminding her of the boundless cruelty the darkspawn were capable of. They would kill indiscriminately. Everything in their path would die. So as difficult as it was to admit, the Blight's threat was of greater importance than her and her own problems. 

Her gaze was set upon the red liquid in the cup, her reflection showing over its dark crimson surface. And it was then that she remembered some of her mother’s last words. _“The Couslands always do our duty first.”_

She steeled herself, gripping the cup tightly in both hands. She would help defeat the Blight. Or die trying.

Without another thought, Everil brought the cup to her lips and drank the foul-smelling liquid, its bitterness quickly coating her tongue. She grimaced while swallowing, the substance burning its way down her throat like boiling water. Then it all rammed into her as an anvil slammed by a great hammer. A hundred voices rushed into her mind and drowned away any semblance of thought or reason, overwhelming her senses and overpowering her very being. She reached for her head, an intense headache piercing her brain.

Duncan took the chalice from her and stepped back, speaking words she never thought to hear. “From this moment on, you are a Grey Warden.”

“Agh…!” Violent dry-heaving paralyzed her as her stomach constricted, trying to make her vomit whatever rotten thing she’d just ingested. But it was denied. The taint forcibly dug its claws into her very being, sending searing pain shooting throughout her body as sharp needles piercing every nerve. All strength left her and she whined in agony, her legs quickly becoming too weak to hold her. Everil vaguely felt herself fall and a pair of arms catch her as vivid images of a thousand marching darkspawn forces flooded her mind. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she was no longer able to stay conscious.

Alistair gently laid her on her back, then took a knee beside her. He looked her over with concern, seeing her fingers twitch and her muscles spasm. A sure sign that the taint was spreading through her.

“She made it…” Duncan declared with visible relief as he set aside the cup.

His junior sent him a haunted stare. “I… I don't think I’ll ever get used to this…”

“You don't,” he admitted, standing by him while they waited for her to awaken. “You can only tell yourself that sacrifice is necessary...”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The sun had nearly set, leaving the sky a gradient of colors that faded to black as the light of day slowly gave way to the night. A cold nose nuzzled her cheek and a whimper escaped her as she regained feeling in her sore body. Blue eyes then slowly opened, seeing the faces of two men, along with that of her faithful hound.

“Welcome…” Duncan greeted soberly, standing above Alistair. “How are you feeling?”

Everil slowly sat up and then hugged herself, shuddering as she swallowed. “I... I have never felt… So much pain in my life.”

“Such is what it takes to become what we are.”

Alistair rose to his feet and offered her a hand, which she took before he helped her up. “Did you have nightmares? I had terrible nightmares after my Joining.”

“I did...” she breathed, disconcerted. “So… So many darkspawn…”

“Here…” Alistair walked over to the table, picking up a set of armor, neatly folded and with a pendant sitting over it. He stepped towards her, then handed her the bundle. “You’ve earned the Grey Warden garbs.”

“Thank you…” She wrapped her fingers around the vestiges, admiring the regal griffons spread over the small, decorative breastplate. Everil then picked up the pendant, lifting it to take a closer look at the swirling red liquid inside.

“We used some of the blood we collected for it.” Alistair gazed somberly at her, reverence in his words. “It’s meant to remind us of those who didn’t make it this far.”

“Oh…” She turned her eyes to the floor, where only bloodstains remained. “Where are they?”

“Their bodies were picked up by the Chantry. They will be sent back to their families to receive a proper ceremony,” Duncan answered after following her line of vision, before once again regarding her. “Right now we have more important matters to worry about. The king has asked for our presence and we are to speak to him immediately. So get ready and meet us on the other side of the temple.”

“Understood…” Everil replied softly before she watched him walk out of the secluded chamber.

Alistair walked a few steps behind him, but paused halfway to the door, turning to her with a remorseful expression. “Will you be... all right?” 

Still holding her gear tightly, she gazed back at him, still unsure of how to feel about what happened. The way he was looking at her. With such a troubled stare. It made it clear that he felt guilty for everything. For having kept such a secret from her, knowing all along that he was possibly leading her towards death itself. But she couldn't be angry with him, and she couldn't blame Duncan for doing what was necessary either. Everyone had to make difficult choices and willfully carry the heavy burdens that came along with them, especially during difficult times like these. 

“Yes…” she finally answered, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Anytime…” Alistair seemed to visibly relax, giving her a small grin of his own. Then he continued to walk in the same direction Duncan went, leaving her alone in the privacy of the temple’s old chamber.

Once the men were gone, Everil proceeded to discard her heavier armor and change into her new gear. She slid on the white, long-sleeved tunic first. Then the blue gambeson, which had an elegant steel griffon spreading its wings over the right shoulder. A steel scale hauberk followed, and over her chest went the plate with the two griffons etched over it. Brown leather boots and gloves came next, completing the outfit. Unlike her companions, she carried no pauldrons or grieves. The weight of her gear was meant for someone requiring more freedom of movement and speed, as bulkier protection would only slow her down.

With a decisive nod, she strapped her sword and dagger to her hips, then slung on the bow and quiver that she’d taken from the genlock during their trek in the Wilds. She rotated her arms, getting used to the new gear and adjusting the straps that held everything in place. Once content with her comfort, she turned to the stairs, walking confidently while Bjorn followed closely behind her. Everil felt reborn in a way. With a bigger purpose now that she wasn’t just fighting in this war alone or for herself. And she was determined to win against the Blight. And eventually, against Rendon Howe as well.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

After crossing the long hall outside the temple, Everil reached the meeting spot where Duncan and Alistair gathered with the king and others around a long table. A map of Ostagar was spread over it, with markers that laid out the strategy. She moved to stand behind her new commander, crossing her arms to listen as their monarch and Teyrn Loghain argued.

“The frontline is too dangerous for you to be playing hero,” said the teyrn, gazing at his son in law with a disapproving scowl.

Cailan lifted his chin stubbornly. “Loghain, my decision is final. I will be leading the battle alongside the Grey Wardens.”

“You risk too much! The bulk of the horde is not to be taken lightly. I have already told you this!”

“These are my men! My forces! And I will fight alongside them whether you like it or not!” the king shot back as he obstinately met his glare. “If you worry this much over my safety, then perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to aid us in the fight!”

Taking a deep breath, Loghain pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to help us in this war.”

“It is not a fool notion…” Cailan’s eyes narrowed dangerously at his tone. “Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past. And you _will_ remember who is king.”

Loghain paused for a moment, gazing darkly at him. “How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century...”

“Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?” Cailan retorted moodily before regarding the Warden-Commander. “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?”

He nodded. “They are, Your Majesty.”

“And I see by the armor that Everil has officially joined your ranks,” he said, his earlier irritation dissipating as he sent her a gentle smile. “Congratulations. I'm sure your father would be proud.”

She bowed her head lightly. “Thank you, sire.”

“Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored.” His grin widened. “And who knows? Perhaps after tonight, children all over Ferelden will be reading about you in history books.”

“I heard the king loves those kinds of stories,” she replied with a small smile of her own.

He chuckled. “That I do.”

“Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan,” Loghain interjected as he stepped back towards the table. “We must attend to reality.”

Cailan gave him an annoyed look and leaned over the map. “Fine... Speak your strategy.”

“Your forces will draw in the darkspawn from the front and into the gorge, where they will be forced to funnel in.” Loghain ran a finger from one part of the map to the other. “Then you will alert the tower to light the signal for my men to—”

“Flank them. I remember,” Cailan cut in as he looked at the marker over the tower. “Who shall light the signal?”

“I have a few men stationed there. It is not a dangerous task, but it is vital.”

The king looked up to the Grey Wardens standing before him, glancing over at the junior members of the order. “Then we need our best up there. Send Alistair and Everil to make sure it gets done.”

“What?” Alistair spoke out before he could stop himself. 

“Alistair…” Duncan warned.

He slammed his mouth shut, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“But we Wardens are needed to fight the darkspawn, no? Why can’t we be in the battle?” Everil voiced his question instead, drawing a defeated breath from their commander.

Cailan smiled at her. “The entire strategy depends on that signal. Don't worry. There will be glory for everyone.”

“You rely too much on these Grey Wardens, Cailan. Is that truly wise?” Loghain questioned.

“Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain.” The king shot him a glare. “Grey Wardens battle the Blight no matter where they're from. And I happen to know Alistair and Everil are more than fully capable of handling such a task.”

She glanced at Loghain, then bowed her head to the king. “We will do our best, Your Majesty.”

“Good! It is settled then. We have a plan,” said Cailan, a childish smile spreading upon his lips. “I can't wait for that moment... The king of Ferelden, fighting alongside the fabled Grey Wardens to stem the tide of evil! It'll be glorious!”

“Yes, Cailan…” Loghain muttered, turning away from him with a cold stare. “Glorious indeed…”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

With the meeting over, the three Grey Wardens headed back to the bonfire by their camp. They gathered beside it, their commander ready to discuss the details of their task. “You heard the king. You two will ensure the beacon is lit in order to alert Teyrn Loghain's forces to charge. We will signal you from the battlefield when the time is right.” Duncan gazed upon the two young warriors before him while standing on the slope leading to the fire. “The king has placed a great responsibility in your hands. He and I have faith in both of you.”

“Just not enough to let us be in the battle...” Alistair muttered in frustration.

“I agree with him,” Everil chimed in confidently. “We should be fighting alongside you. We could make a difference.”

“That is not your decision to make." Duncan sternly gazed at them, regarding them as if they were children. “If the king says the Grey Wardens are needed to light the beacon, then the Grey Wardens will be there.”

Alistair stubbornly folded his arms. “Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”

The mental pictures caused her to smile teasingly at him. “Actually, I think that would be an interesting sight to behold.”

“If that’s the case, then I could maybe put on a show just for you…” he said, grinning playfully at her. “But it has to be a pretty dress.”

A light chuckle escaped her. “Deal.”

Duncan sighed hopelessly at the pair. “At any rate, the fight is about to begin and I must go join the others. Remember, I don't want any heroics from either of you. Do as you're told and wait until the fight is over. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ser,” the two said in unison.

“Good.” Then Duncan turned to leave.

“Duncan…”

He gazed back to Alistair, arching a brow “Yes.”

“I, uh…” He looked up at him, a strange pressure in his chest as he realized this would be the moment of truth. That any one of them could die tonight. “May the Maker watch over you…” 

“May the Maker watch over us all.” Duncan nodded firmly, then walked away towards the gates. 

Remaining where they stood, his young apprentices silently watched his retreating back. His sure steps took him further away from them until eventually, he disappeared behind the fortress walls.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

It wasn’t long before war cries and the clash of metal filled the ancient fortress, drowning the silence of the night as the two young Wardens and the hound approached the overpass. The light of torches and the glittering of iron could be seen in the gorge below the bridge as the king's armies clashed against the darkspawn with violent intensity. With their pulse already racing, Alistair and Everil were forced to stop before crossing as a great ball of fire flew up from the battlefield. It exploded upon one of the soldiers ahead, taking out both him and the catapult he’d been using. 

“Those are not trebuchets! It’s darkspawn magic!” Alistair yelled above the noise.

They hesitated, while soldiers behind them rushed in, promptly replacing the dead. More fireballs were cast, hitting one of the towers on the other side of the gorge and destroying part of it with its explosive force. 

Everil swallowed and then steeled herself, shouting over the sounds of battle at her companions. “Come on!” 

She ran, Alistair and Bjorn following closely as they attempted to cross the bridge, stepping around charred corpses as they went. They passed by more soldiers as they discharged their catapults at the enemies below. And she willed herself not to stop to look at the sheer amount of darkspawn swarming the field. 

“Look out!”

Alistair seized her arm just as more magic exploded before her, barely missing her as the shockwave sent them both flying back. They landed roughly a few steps from where the flames spread, coughing from the smoke and dust. “Shit! Hurry!” With little time to recover, he pushed himself to his feet, and taking her by the wrist, pulled her up with him. He held onto her as their feet hit the ground, attempting to keep them from getting separated in the chaos as everything seemed to explode around them. And Everil let him lead, everything happening too fast for her to process. 

Another blazing ball came down, and this time it was her turn to stop him, grabbing his arm just as it hit the bridge in front of them. They avoided the explosion this time and hurried the rest of the way, leaving the burning soldiers behind. As soon as they made it across, he released her and both jogged towards a set of stairs leading up to the grounds around the tower. A soldier and a mage ran down to meet them.

“G-Grey Wardens! The tower is under attack!” yelled the mage, panicking.

“What do you mean, man! Under attack by whom!” Alistair shouted in alarm.

“Darkspawn! They came from the ground in the lower levels. Everyone inside is dead!” the soldier replied, an armored finger pointed in the tower’s direction.

“Blast…” Everil muttered under her breath. If the tower was taken, then the signal was compromised.

“We have to light the beacon ourselves!” Alistair told her, eyes unwavering. They had no other choice.

“Then that's what we will do.” She dipped her head, then faced the two men before them. “We need you to fight with us! Let's go!”

They hurried up the steps, the soldier and mage following behind them. Immediately, genlocks charged at them with axes and swords as the Wardens drew their weapons. Everil cried out as she brought down her blade, cutting through one, then swiftly stabbing the next in the chest. She kept moving, not waiting for the creatures to fall as she clashed swords with a hurlock waiting ahead. Alistair was close behind, deflecting a genlock’s axe before slashing across its chest.

She ducked, avoiding the monster’s sword, before swinging her own at its gut. Her feet hit the ground as she dashed up another set of stairs. Darkspawn stood at every corner, murdering the men surrounding the tower. The group of four and the hound continued to fight their way through to the entrance before Everil burst in, throwing the doors open hard enough for them to slam against the wall. A bloody chamber with scattered bodies greeted them, but they didn’t have much time to take in the sight. For who knew how long it would take them to reach the top, and they already wasted time outside.

She led them through the large room towards the path ahead as more genlocks stood in their way. Her sword found one, then two, their cries echoing under the high ceilings. Alistair ran past her and swung, deflecting the axe of a hurlock before he stabbed it through the head. They continued to cross the dark halls as more enemies blocked their advance. But the two Grey Wardens easily cut through them, while their other companions helped take down the ones trying to attack them from behind. Soon they reached a set of stairs leading up to the second level of the tower. 

“We only killed stragglers.” Alistair was panting for breath as they paused at the bottom of the steps. “There are larger groups waiting for us upstairs.” 

“You can feel them?” she inquired, breathing just as hard.

“Yes.”

A puzzled look dawned upon her. “I… I can’t…” 

“You won’t right away... It takes time.” He walked up towards the double doors. “Let's just be careful. We don't want to get surrounded.”

They climbed and stepped into the next room, seeing more bodies everywhere they went. Their feet squelched over the gore covering the floors, the acrid scent of it saturating the place. Limbs and torsos hung from the walls, the grizzly scene causing her stomach to twist in protest. 

_This is worse than the Korcari Wilds..._ Everil thought with a disgusted grimace.

“I don’t understand…” Alistair walked towards the center of the room, a disturbed look over his face as he took in the carnage around them. “There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here!”

“Were you not complaining you wouldn’t get to fight?” she teased, offering him a half-smile.

“Hey, you're right... I guess there is a silver lining here after all.” He had a small grin of his own, one that was short-lived. “At any rate, we should hurry! Loghain's waiting for that signal and the king will need his men in the fight.”

“Right,” she nodded and resumed her hurried steps through the next long, dark hallway. He and the others went after her, heading towards the next wave of enemies waiting for them ahead.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

By the time they reached the last floor, they were all covered in darkspawn blood but thankfully uninjured. Everil cut down the last of the genlocks, watching it fall while attempting to wipe red from her chin, smearing it instead. Grunting tiredly, she kicked it and spun about, approaching the other men. “Everyone all right?”

A ground-shaking roar resounded through the room, making the group turn their heads towards the next door above.

“By the Maker… What was that?” The soldier took a step back, frightened by the bestial sound. 

She silently agreed with the man’s fear, but they were too close to turn back. Determination settled over her eyes and Everil began walking up the stairs, turning to look down at her companions. “Everyone down there is depending on us. Let’s get this done and make your comrades’ sacrifice count for something!” 

The soldier swallowed and nodded his head, eyes hardening. Beside him, the mage joined in with a fearless expression. “Lead on, Grey Wardens.”

Everil and Alistair climbed up and opened the door, leading them in before shutting it behind them. The wide chamber that followed was devoid of light, but they immediately knew something was inside when its putrid smell reached their nostrils. They slowly advanced, taking tentative steps as they tried to see past the darkness. Heavy breathing could be heard in the distance, ominously filling the silence. Trails of blood led them further in, and just as the two Wardens reached the center, another roar shook them to the core. 

A ten-foot, horned beast charged from out of the shadows, violently slamming the mage to the ground before taking hold of the soldier. The man screamed in pure agony as his body was crushed under its vise grip, the cracking sound of bones breaking joining his cries. 

Bjorn barked viciously at the monsters, keeping his distance while standing between it and his mistress.

“Maker…” Everil breathed out as it brought its victim up to a monstrous maw lined with sharp, jagged teeth. 

It bit off the poor man’s head with a sickening crunch, blood spraying upwards like a fountain. The massive creature growled as it chewed and wiped its mouth with the back of its giant hand. Still not satisfied, it carelessly dropped the still convulsing corpse and took a massive step, setting its sights upon them. 

“An ogre…” Alistair inwardly cursed their rotten luck. Grey Wardens often fought these monsters in teams, as they were too dangerous and powerful for a single Warden to face on their own. And thanks to their brief time in the order, the two of them barely counted as one.

The ogre moved towards them, blocking their access to the hearth that was to be their beacon and forcing them to back away from it. Everil scowled at it. There was no time to wear it down, not when the king’s forces were still fighting for their lives. They had to end it quickly or all would be lost. 

She looked their enemy over as it stalked closer to them. Its body was made up of pure muscle, with a wide, bulky chest and even broader shoulders. The two legs carrying it were just as strong, but the knees could still prove to be a weakness if they were to buckle under its heavy weight. “We should attack low,” she suggested, glancing towards Alistair. “It has to carry a lot on those legs. If one of us can bring it down to a knee, the other can take the head.”

“That sounds like a good plan to me.” He gave a firm nod.

Waiting no longer, the ogre bull-rushed them, its mighty horns aimed at them. They split up, the monster barely missing them. Alistair and Bjorn ran towards it, quickly engaging it before it could try to rush them again. Her hound bit at its calves, shredding through flesh as the beast attempted to swat him away. Meanwhile, the Warden sliced at its thighs, his blade cutting deep as blood sprayed the floor. Then seeing the creature pulled back its arm, he ducked, dodging the hit. 

Everil joined them, slashing at its knees as it roared. And yet despite their efforts, she felt as if they were flies trying to take down a man. The ogre continued to move effortlessly in spite of the many wounds now covering its legs, the hits only making it angrier. It reached down, and this time, Alistair was too slow to dodge. It took hold of him, forcing a cry out of him as his ribs strained under the pressure of its massive grip. He gritted his teeth, struggling and unable to free his sword arm as the creature lifted him off the ground. 

“Alistair!” Everil called out as she watched the ogre slowly bring him up to its mouth. Without thinking, she sheathed her blades, slid the bow off her shoulder, and fired. The arrow found its eye just as the ogre opened its maws, burying itself deep into its skull and causing it to drop its would-be meal. Her companion fell on his back with a grunt as the creature howled in pain, its hands covering its face as it bled onto them. 

It snarled angrily at her and rushed in a blind rage, stomping and swinging as the floor shook beneath their feet. She quickly rolled to the side, avoiding a giant punch from the beast. It continued like a mad bull, striking at the air as it stalked after her. 

Everil ducked, but as it swung one arm, it brought down the other, hitting her hip and sending her tumbling a few feet over the hard ground. It took her a minute to pinpoint her position when she stopped rolling, vision swimming as her brain struggled to adjust. Groaning in pain, she lifted her head and placed a hand over her burning thigh. “Aah… That’s going to leave a bad bruise...” she hissed through clenched teeth. 

A roar snapped her out of the daze, eyes shooting in its direction as its hideous face came into view. “Maker's breath!” She scrambled onto her rear and crawled back, trying to move away as it reached down with its outstretched hand.

With a battle cry, Alistair darted between her and the ogre, sword swooshing in an arch and slicing off three of its fingers. It howled in agony, holding on to its wrist as red gushed from the open stubs. Then it moved away, cradling the oozing limb against its chest. 

Everil looked up as her fellow Warden pulled her by the arm, helping her stand.

“Bastard’s the grabby type, huh?” he jested, giving her a wry smile.

“It…” She bit back the pain upon putting her weight on the leg. “It certainly seems that way…”

“Thank you for saving me back there. That was—” He shuddered involuntarily. “—way too close for comfort.”

“Well, we're even now.” She smirked, dropping the now broken bow to then draw her blade. “I have an idea... Shall we put it out of its misery?”

He nodded firmly. “Let’s do it.”

“Attack on my signal…” Taking a step, Everil turned to face the ogre, preparing her weapon. And she bolted into motion, ignoring the pain while running towards the beast. It saw her coming, growling at the challenge as it charged, its horns pointed at her. She picked up speed, sprinting as it got closer. It was mere steps from her when she dropped and slid across the ground, her body drifting over the stone and between its massive legs. She swiftly used an arm to stop herself and then whirled to the back of the monster. It didn’t have time to turn around when she darted forth, launching herself at one leg and burying her blade into the back of its knee. It growled out in pain as she cut through its kneecap, forcing its leg to buckle. 

“Now!” She cried out, holding on to her blade as the ogre struggled.

Alistair was already moving, sword in hand after having put away his shield. Roaring, he jumped, using its bent leg as a stepping stone to propel himself up towards its head. His blade sunk into its throat, piercing through the ogre’s windpipe as he watched it gurgled up blood. It began to drop just as Everil yanked her weapon out of it and jumped away. Alistair held on to his sword, knees to the monster’s chest as it fell backward along with him. 

The ogre hit the floor with a heavy slam, its arms still trying to reach for the Grey Warden still on top of it. Before it could grab him, Alistair pulled out his sword and gripped the hilt with both hands, raising it over his head before bringing it down. He stabbed through the monster’s open maw, causing it to gurgle a growl as blood poured out and pool under its head. The Warden then twisted his blade once and the beast finally stopped moving. 

Without wasting any more time, he slid off the dead monster and made for the beacon. Everil and her hound jogged after him, sheathing her sword. He lit the fire and the flames shot up like a spire, burning the night sky with its bright, yellow light. Panting for breath, the two Grey Wardens gazed up at the blaze, Alistair still on a knee by the long chimney. 

“We… We did it,” Everil spoke breathlessly, putting on a small, relieved smile.

“Yeah,” he chuckled and craned his head to look up at her. “I think we work well together.”

“Yes... So do I.” Her smile broadened as she offered him a friendly hand to help him up.

But as Alistair was about to reach for it, familiar, dark voices flooded his head, causing his eyes to grow wide. The snap of bowstrings then echoed in his ears, and he saw her body jerk twice as if hit by something from behind. She coughed up blood, a few drops of her blood splattered over his stunned face. And then she was falling, her knees giving out just as multiple bowstrings snapped once more.

“Shit!” He bolted to his feet, pulled her to him, and brought his shield up with barely enough time to protect them from the larger wave of arrows that rained down upon them. One got his leg, causing him to grit his teeth in pain as it pierced through his armor. After the rain stopped, he took an unsteady step back and threw her arm over his shoulders, helping her stand while looking towards their attackers.

“Shit, shit, shit…!” he cursed under his breath, seeing they were outnumbered by the darkspawn still pouring in through their only exit. All charging towards them, weapons raised as their archers set down their bows to join in their fun.

Bjorn quickly pounced and took out one of them before trying to tackle another, only to be kicked off. He rose again, backing up while growling and snarling, yet his attempt at intimidation was futile. 

Clenching his jaw, Alistair put away his shield and drew his blade to fend off several others, his other arm keeping his fellow Warden on her feet. A grunt escaped him as a hurlock broke through his block, slicing at his side and sending blood splattering over the floor. “Bastard!” He hit it across the face with the pommel of his sword, throwing it off balance before slicing its neck with one swift swing. 

The mabari stood weakly between them and the enemy, attempting to protect his mistress while now carrying injuries of his own.

Dazed and in agony, Everil glanced up at Alistair as blood soaked her back and slid down her legs. There was nothing she could tell him. Nothing she could say to offer hope or comfort. _We're going to die…_ She swallowed, the taste of copper filling her mouth as her hand weakly reached for her hip and drew her sword. Grunting, Everil swung it once, taking out a genlock that got too close to them. 

He felt her lean more heavily on him, which drew his gaze to her. She was barely conscious as she struggled to breathe, crimson spilling out from a corner of her mouth. And yet there was a defiant look in her eyes. As if not even death itself could ever stop her. The hand at her waist tightened its hold, pulling her closer to him before they found themselves cornered against the wall. They watched helplessly as the increasing number of darkspawn began closing in, cackling in mirth as if already enjoying their impending suffering.

Suffering that never came.

A burst of wind exploded through one of the massive mosaic windows, sweeping away several of the creatures as glass shot out in every direction. A regal dragon emerged from it, red scales shimmering as it landed heavily and swung its massive tail at the darkspawn. They were sent flying back before it roared and stumped on multiple others, smashing them to the ground as if they were nothing but insects. 

The two Grey Wardens watched in silent shock as flames shot out of its mouth, torching the remaining enemies, turning them to ash. Sensing their stares, the dragon then moved its head towards them and snarled. Piercing yellow eyes focused on the wounded pair as they struggled to stand. Bloodied, worn, and terrified. 

And it was then that Everil felt her consciousness leave her, the beast's eyes boring into her mind before darkness claimed her.


	9. Grey Wardens

⚜

  
  
  
  


**_A_** _woman's distant cry made_ Alistair snap awake and sit up with a start, his injuries immediately protesting against the sudden movement. He moaned weakly, reaching for his burning side only to find blood-stained bandages were now wrapped around his middle. Through tired eyes, he inspected the rest of his body, seeing more of them covering most of his bare torso. Then he spotted another dressing around his thigh, also hinted crimson where the arrow hit. He was a mess, but at least whoever did the work allowed him to keep both his trousers and what little remained of his dignity.

The memories of what happened slowly dawned upon him despite the pounding headache. But they were blurred and incomplete, possibly due to how much blood he lost. Which left him wondering if perhaps that scream from before came from yet another one of his taint-induced nightmares.

_ Where am I?  _ Alistair strained to observe his surroundings. It was nighttime and it was freezing. The light of a nearby campfire cut through the darkness, offering him some warmth while illuminating the small clearing that was bordered by a thicket of trees and the shores of a swampy pool.

_ The Korcari Wilds…? _ A puzzled look befell him and he spun his head, seeking to see more. He immediately knew exactly where he was when the rickety, old hut came into view. “Damn it…” he grunted, one hand coming to rest on his aching head. “Why… here?”

A soft whine drew his attention to the bandaged dog currently facing the hut’s door, its ears flat against its head. It looked incredibly worried as it sat there, whining miserably, begging for whoever was inside to let it in. The image of chocolate locks and fearsome blue eyes crossed his mind at the sight of it. Only to be replaced by bloodied lips and her limp form. He scanned the camp again with growing concern, seeing no one else with him.

“Everil...?” he called, shakily pushing himself up to his feet and wincing upon taking a step to the woods. Then another pain-filled cry startled him, causing him to whirl around towards the hut.

“Everil!” Alistair ran to the door, ignoring his wounds as he burst through it. His gaze landed on the hag and girl from before, who were standing by her hunched form with a nearby fireplace to light up their decrepit home.

“Ah, you have awakened. Good.” The old woman sent him a brief glance over the shoulder, then promptly returned to her task as a feeble whimper reached his ears.

“What are you doing to her!” He stalked towards them, but could only take a few steps before a broken arrow was flung at his feet.

“Saving her life!” the hag barked, pinning him with an irritated glare.

Alistair's shocked stare trailed up from the bloodied arrow to his companion, taking in her poor condition. Her eyes were half-lidded, but she was barely clinging to consciousness as she breathed in broken, quivering breaths. Dark hair stuck to her sweat-streaked face, framing her pale features. Red soaked through the armor on her chest, turning the regal blue of their gear a deep, dark purple. “Maker's breath…” was all he could say, limping a little closer to them.

“Did you know that simply plucking an arrow from one’s body does more harm than good? It damages nerves and muscle, causing heavier bleeding. Oftentimes even death.” The hag turned her back to him, taking hold of the last arrow still buried in Everil's back. “One must instead thrust it all the way through—” She forced the shaft in, the heart-wrenching scream that escaped his fellow Warden making him wince. “—and hope not to tear through any vital organs.” 

Still shaken, he made an attempt to help, only to be stopped by a hand gesture from the supposed witch. A snap was heard as she broke the arrow's tip, drawing another whimper from his agonizing companion. Then a sickening wet sound followed as the offending object was removed and discarded.

He gulped, staring helplessly. “How…? How is she?”

“An arrow pierced through one of her lungs, but fortunately for your friend, I know a thing or two about healing magic. She will live.” She took a small bowl from the decrepit nightstand by the bed, handing it over to Morrigan. “Give her this and smear some on the wounds. After that—”

“Bandages. Yes, Mother. I heard you all three times you lectured me while patching up the other one.”

“Well, I figured you were deaf, considering I had to fix them twice over because you cannot tie a simple knot.”

Alistair ignored their banter, a hand over his bandaged stomach. Everything happened so fast. First, the king sends them on an errand. A task that wasn’t even supposed to involve fighting. Then everything goes south in a blink of an eye, with them ending up having to fight for their lives at the top of the tower. He hoped at least it was all worth it. That they lit the signal in time.

The thought immediately reminded him of Duncan.

“Do you know what happened to the others?” He regarded the old woman, a hint of urgency painting his voice. “To the king… and the Grey Wardens?”

Her eerie yellow eyes went to him, the seemingly uncharacteristic pause telling him something wasn't right. She sauntered to the door, wiping bloody hands on her skirts. “Come. There is something I must tell you.”

His anxious stare followed her out, then returned to Everil’s now unconscious form. He hesitated, reluctant to leave his sister-in-arms alone. 

“You should go with Mother." Morrigan adjusted the motionless woman, making her lean against her while careful fingers worked off the straps on the armor. “Unless you wish to remain and see your ailing companion’s naked body. I shan't judge too harshly.”

“O-Of course not! I... I would never…!” He flusteredly scratched the back of his head, then went for the door. “I… I’ll just be outside.”

She watched in mild amusement as he stumbled out the door, shutting it behind him. “I actually feel sorry for you...” she muttered while continuing to undress her, the woman's blood staining the once-white sheets of her bed.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The witch lowered herself onto a rocking chair by the fire, a wrinkled hand lazily bringing a pipe to her cracked lips. She summoned a small flame with a snap of her fingers, which she used to light it with a few puffs while watching him approach. Smoke drifted from her mouth and nose as she leaned back, gesturing to another wooden chair across from her. “Sit.”

Alistair did as he was told, wincing slightly as every movement brought pain to his body. A chill ran down his spine as he stared at those piercing yellow eyes, the vague image of the dragon from the tower superimposing over those weazened features. He was compelled to know what she was but found himself too afraid to ask.

“Your order, your king, and his armies…” she began slowly, releasing another cloud of smoke “They have all perished against the darkspawn horde.”

Those chilling words paralyzed him, temporarily stopping his heart as the world around him seemed to freeze along with it. “W-What...?”

“You heard me, boy.” The chair rocked back and forth, creaking with the motion as her piercing eyes focused on the fire. “They were massacred. Every one of them.”

“N-No… That’s not true…” Alistair clung desperately to denial, unable to move from where he sat. “We lit the beacon... Loghain’s soldiers surely would have—”

“This Loghain ignored your signal and fled the field, taking his men with him. No one came to help in the fight.” 

“NO!” He bolted to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain stabbing his side. He frantically searched the area, panicked eyes searching through the flickering shadows. “Where’s my sword! They need me!” 

“Sit. There is nothing you can do for them now.” She drew in another puff, her sharp stare following him as he paced about like a caged animal.

“They can’t be dead…! Duncan can’t be dead! I… I have to go help them!” Alistair made for the edge of the woods, his distraught mind telling him to run. To go to his brothers. To fight and save anyone he could or die trying. Until something shot out from the darkness. 

Bony fingers grabbed his arms and legs, yanking him off the ground as he released a startled cry. He struggled and fought, fear gripping his heart as what appeared to be wooden branches left scratches over his arms.

The old woman rose from the rocking chair and leisurely strolled over to him, the creaking limbs lowering him to her. She huffed smoke onto his face with a frigid glare, throwing him into a coughing fit. “You will do no such thing.” He squirmed within her grasp. “I went through a great deal of trouble to save your sorry behind, young man. Do not undermine my efforts by rushing to your death like a fool.” 

Any movement he made just tightened her hold on him, stressing his joints to the breaking point. “Who... are you?” Alistair asked hoarsely, attempting to fight back the bitter tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“I believe the better question here is... Who. Are. You?” Her cat-like eyes pierced through him, chilling him to the core. “You call yourself a Grey Warden, yet you've yet to realize that you and that girl are now Ferelden’s only hope against the Blight.”

The witch watched in mild fascination as his eyes slowly widened, the weight of her words visibly settling upon him. She folded an arm and rested her elbow over it, smugly bringing the pipe back to her lips. “Now that you have seen the situation you are in… Tell me… What will you do?”

“I… I don’t know…” he rasped, uncertain. “Duncan… was our leader. Without him…”

“New leaders must rise up, more so now in these desperate times. But I suppose it remains to be seen if you two have what it takes to replace him.” She scowled in disgust, seeing the anguish on him as he defeatedly hung his head.

Silence filled the air, save for the occasional crackle of the fire. 

Her long, withered fingers took hold of his jaw, roughly forcing him to look at her. She tilted her head, inspecting his features as if he were some strange creature. He stubbornly tried to turn his hazel-browns away from her but was too worn out to struggle against her. 

A dark, deep cackle rocked her shoulders at what she found. “Oh, but the resemblance is uncanny! Even that miserable look in your eyes is the same as his.” She laughed again. “It seems 'tis as they say. The apple never falls far from the tree.”

But her cryptic words didn’t register with Alistair. He stopped listening a while ago, too engrossed in his own grief.

“Hmph...” She carelessly released him and turned her back to him, striding away while commanding the trees to set him back on his feet. “You are welcome to wallow in your own misery if you must. But do be a good lad and stay where you are. Do not make me chase after you or I will make sure you regret it.”

Alistair sank to his knees, quivering hands covering his eyes as he bared his teeth. Large tears rolled freely down his face, dripping to the ground as he wailed like a lost child. Bjorn approached him, nuzzling his head with a gentle whine. But the Grey Warden remained motionless, sobbing brokenly with only the hound to keep him company.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“How is she, Morrigan?” asked a male voice, riddled with worry.

“Her wounds have healed and she is resting. She is more resilient than she appears.” The female was nonchalant. Disinterested. 

He hesitated. “Can I sit there?”

“Do as you wish... I care not.”

The sound of a door closing joined someone’s footsteps as they drew closer. 

Everil barely recognized the voices through the fog as their conversation stirred her consciousness. And she became aware of just how hurt she was. Pain stabbed at her back and dryness scraped at her throat as memories of the battle slowly flooded her brain. A whimper escaped her, the pounding headache making her wish she'd stayed asleep.

“Everil?”

“Mm...?” Her eyes slowly opened, her face scrunching up as the man's features gradually came into focus. “A… Alistair?”

He released a breath of relief. “Hey...”

Everil sat up ever so slowly, groaning as the lingering ache spread throughout. “Where are we? How long was I out?”

“A couple of days. We're in the Wilds... Morrigan and her mother saved our lives.”

She frowned, a hand on her aching temple, her mind too fuzzy. “How in the… How did they manage to get us out of the tower?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I want to know that part...” He sighed. 

“Where’s Bjorn?” she asked, noticing they were missing one more party member. 

He gave her a half-smile. “Outside waiting for you.”

“Ah, good…” she breathed out with deep relief before inspecting herself. The armor was gone, replaced by a worn robe that was hinted with blood in places. She craned her head towards her companion, also looking him over. He was sitting on a wooden chair, no hauberk or plates, bandages visible through the open collar of his gambeson. “Are you all right?” she voiced worriedly.

Alistair let out a wry chuckle. “Heh… I should be the one asking you that.”

Her eyebrows shot up as she blinked. “Was it that bad?”

“Yeah… I was afraid you’d die on me.”

In a different scenario, she may have been flattered by his concern for her, but the haunted look in his eyes told her there was more to it. 

She smiled weakly. “Well, I’m awake now. Thanks for worrying about me.”

“Sure…” he responded with a nod, eyes downcast. 

Yes. Something was definitely wrong. And after what happened to them, she was hesitating to ask. 

He didn't seem all too eager to tell her either.

“Alistair, tell me what happened...” she prompted weakly. “Did we win the battle?”

He let out a drawn-out breath, shaking his head wearily while preparing himself to speak. Yet he only managed a few words before his voice faded away. “No… Everyone... They…”

It didn't take her long to figure out what he meant. “But... The signal—”

“Loghain never charged. The king, his soldiers, and the other Wardens were overwhelmed and left to die.” Alistair’s voice was drenched in a mixture of grief and anger. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he tightly clasped his hands together. “We… We are the only Grey Wardens left.” 

The news chilled her as she stared at him. Her eyes then gradually shifted to her hands as they gripped the furs covering her legs. It all sounded surreal to her. That last battle was meant to end it all, instead…

Her mind went straight to her brother.

_ No… Fergus is resourceful… I won't believe him dead until I know for certain… _

But King Cailan, a kind man her family once served loyally, and someone she’d considered a friend, was now gone. All those soldiers—many of them with families—now lay dead after attempting to protect their nation. And the Grey Wardens... 

Everil quickly turned to him, seeing that his eyes remained downcast and his shoulders were slumped. As if the weight of it all was pressing down upon him. She knew that look. Felt it after having lost everything to Howe. Her relationship with Duncan had been brief, and she didn’t have the opportunity to meet the other Wardens. But by the way Alistair had spoken of them on their way to Ostagar, they'd probably been like family to him. 

A family murdered by betrayal, much like her own.

She reached out, resting a gentle hand on his forearm. “I'm sorry…”

Her soft words drew his anguished gaze to hers and he slowly placed a hand over hers, giving it a weak squeeze. “Thanks…”

“Ah, you have awakened!”

Both turned startled looks to the woman at the door.

“Mother shall be pleased.” Morrigan walked towards the pair, stopping by the foot of the bed before folding her arms over her chest.

Everil gave her a small smile. “Thank you for helping us, Morrigan.”

“You are welcome...” She awkwardly turned her gaze away. “Although Mother did most of the work. I am no healer.” 

“I see… Then perhaps I should go thank her, as well.”

“That would be wise…”

Licking her dry lips, Everil pushed the covers off her and swung bruised legs over the edge of the bed. She winced upon standing, a hand shooting to her arm as a dull ache spread down her back. 

Alistair stood, worriedly grasping her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re well enough to move around? Maybe we should wait a little longer.”

She shook her head. “Well or not, we don’t have time to sit around. Without an army to hold them back, the darkspawn will spread further north. We must find a way to stop the Blight.” Her attention went to Morrigan. “Where’s my armor?”

“Over by the window.” She pointed with her finger. “‘Tis clean and we did a bit of mending to it. So it should be fine to wear.”

Alistair took a step back, making room for her to walk around him while his eyes followed her. It seemed that unlike him, the news didn’t throw her into an emotional stupor. She was pushing through with renewed strength, determined to do what they had to do. He realized she was better suited to lead them through their impossible task than he ever would. With his decision made, he rubbed the back of his neck and headed for the door. “I’ll be waiting outside...” 

The witch watched the interaction between the two before he left the hut. She arched a brow at her. “Are you not the junior member of the order?”

“I am. What of it?” Everil shot her a questioning glance before stripping, unfazed by her presence.

“I merely find it curious that you seem to be the one making the decisions.”

She shrugged and turned away. “Alistair and I are the only ones left. I don't think rank has any meaning right now.” 

“I see…”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

It was past noon by the time she stepped out of the hut, now clad in all of her Grey Warden gear. The first one to greet her was her hound, wagging his stubby tail uncontrollably. Everil noticed the bandages around his middle, but they didn't seem to face him. She smiled at him, reaching down to scratch the back of his ear. “Hi boy. I'm glad you’re all right.”

Bjorn whined at her, nuzzling her open palm. Then he barked, drawing a chuckle from his mistress. “Yes, yes. I know. I'm sorry I worried you.”

“’Twas about time you woke up, girl,” the old woman cackled as she stood by the pond further down. “Both these fellows were so depressed they made the swamp appear cheerful in comparison.”

Alistair was standing by the hag, fully geared and waiting for her.

She walked up to them, her hound in toe. “You have my gratitude for saving our lives.”

“My... Always so civil. You are welcome. Though I did not do it out of the kindness of my heart.” She folded her arms and motioned to Alistair. “I'm sure your fellow Warden here has already informed you of what happened.”

“He has… But before we discuss what's next, I don't believe you ever told us your name.”

“Names are pretty but useless.” The hag waved a dismissive hand. “The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose that will do.”

“Flemeth?” Alistair breathed in consternation. “ _ The _ Flemeth? From the legends? Daveth was right… You’re the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?”

She shot him a dirty look. “What’s that supposed to mean? I know a little magic and it has served you both well.”

Everil was fascinated. “If you are really Flemeth, then that means you must be very old and very powerful.” 

“Power and age are relative. It depends on who you ask. Compared to you two? Yes, on both accounts.” Flemeth proudly lifted her chin. “But it is not I you should be concerned with. The real threat lies at the heart of the Blight itself.”

Alistair’s eyes hardened. “The Archdemon...” 

“Loghain is a possible threat now too…” Everil added while folding her arms. “I still don’t understand what he was hoping to gain by leaving the king for dead.” 

“The throne? He’s the queen’s father… Still… I don't see how he would get away with murder.”

Flemeth scoffed. “You speak as if he were the first king to gain his throne that way. Grow up, boy!”

He aimed an indignant glare at the witch. “If Arl Eamon found out what he’s done, he would never stand for it. The Landsmeet would never stand for it. There would be civil war!”

“Arl Eamon? The Arl of Redcliffe?” Everil questioned curiously. 

“Yes. I know him. He’s a good man, respected in the Landsmeet—” An idea then occurred to him. “Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!” 

She gave him a skeptical look. “Would he really believe us over Teyrn Loghain?” 

“I'm sure he would. And he wasn't at Ostagar so he still has all his soldiers. He’s also Cailan’s uncle, so he will have a personal motivation to bring Loghain to justice for what he did,” he answered with conviction, then his confident look turned into doubt. “Still…. There’s no way he can defeat the Blight on his own. We’ll need more help.”

“Hmm…” Everil tapped her chin with a finger, tilting her head. “What about the treaties Flemeth gave us?”

“Now, there’s a smart lass,” Flemeth complemented with an amused smile.

“That’s right! The Grey Warden treaties!” Alistair’s face brightened at the suggestion. “We can use the scrolls to demand aid from the dwarves, elves, mages, and other places. They’re obligated to help us during a Blight!”

Flemeth cackled at the two. “I may be old, but this Arl Eamon, dwarves, elves, and whoever else…. This sounds like an army to me.”

Alistair turned tentative eyes towards his comrade. “So you think we can do this? Go to all these places and build an army?” 

She was a little surprised by his question. Even though she’d read every possible book about them, she still had limited knowledge of how Grey Wardens truly worked. And so far, it seemed that without him she would have been relatively lost. Yet he didn't seem to notice having just now put their plan together himself, instead, questioning his own judgment.

Regardless, Everil offered him an encouraging smile. “And why not? Is that not what Grey Wardens do?”

“Yes. Right,” he affirmed with renewed motivation. “Then it’s settled! We have a plan.” 

Flemeth regarded them both. “So you are ready to take on this task? To be Grey Wardens once more?” 

Everil nodded. “As ready as we will ever be.”

“Good,” the witch said sharply before glancing towards her hut. “Before you go, there is still one more thing I can offer you.”

“Mother dear, the stew is bubbling.” As if on cue, Morrigan walked out the door and headed towards them. “Shall we have two guests for supper? Or none?”

“The Grey Wardens will take some for the road. And you will be leaving with them.”

“Such a shame—What?”

“You heard me, girl. Last I checked you had ears,” Flemeth laughed. 

“But Mother… This is not how I—”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Everil agreed, offering the mage a friendly smile. If they were setting out on their own, they might as well pick up extra hands. That, and by how the stew smelled from where they stood, she imagined the woman’s food would most definitely be better than Alistair’s had been during their trip to Ostagar.

She glared at both her mother and the Warden. “Have I no say in this?” 

“They need you, Morrigan.” Flemeth somberly addressed her, her rigid tone coinciding with the reality of their situation. “Alone these two must unite Ferelden against the Blight. Without you, they will surely fail and all will be destroyed... Even I.”

“I… understand…”

“Besides… You’ve been itching to get out of the Wilds for years now. Now’s your chance.” Flemeth then turned sharp eyes to the other two. “And you, Grey Wardens. I give you that wish I value above all else in this world. I do this because you  _ must _ succeed. Do not make me regret this decision.” 

Everil nodded confidently. “She won't come to harm with us.”

But Alistair wasn't as inviting as she was to the idea. He regarded the witches cautiously, doubt in his tone. “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth... But wouldn't that add to our problems? Outside of the Wilds, she's an apostate.” 

Flemeth gave him the evil eye, making both Wardens tense on their feet. “If you do not want help from us illegal mages, young man, then perhaps I should have left you in that tower.”

He gulped. “Point. Taken.”

“Very well…” Morrigan sighed pitifully. “Allow me to get my things if you please.” 

Upon saying their goodbyes, they were on their way. Morrigan had suggested they head north to the nearest village, Lothering, in order to purchase any supplies they needed. Thus she led them through the Wilds, guiding them out of the traitorous wilderness. The trip was quiet for the most part, with each traveler immersed in his or her own thoughts. 

Alistair watched his fellow Warden from the rear, the silence allowing him to listen to her elaborate breathing despite her efforts to hide her discomfort. She was hurt worse than he in that tower, and it would probably take some time for her to fully heal. Still, by what he witnessed thus far, she was obviously the hardheaded type. Even if he were to suggest taking a break for her sake, she would probably brush him off and keep walking. Her commitment to their cause was admirable. Especially when she was but a junior in their order. That unwavering willingness to fulfill her duty made him see another reason why Duncan was so determined to recruit her. 

The thought of the man he’d once looked up to caused his chest to tighten uncomfortably. He half expected to see him emerge from the woods, covered in darkspawn blood and telling them everything would be fine. That the others were at camp, waiting for them. A knot formed in his throat and his hands closed into fists. There was a good chance that he’d probably never be able to find his body. By now the darkspawn would have torn it to pieces and scattered it across Ostagar, as both a warning and a promise to those who dared to cross their path. But although their evil sickened him, someone else was the focus of his ire. 

He had never hated anyone before, but Loghain had earned the privilege of being the first. If the desire to stop the Blight didn’t push him through the worst of times, the thought of his blade running the man through surely would. If only he could see him face to face now, then perhaps killing him would take away all of the anger and pain currently threatening to suffocate him. But he’d just have to hope that he’ll get the chance soon enough.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Night fell upon them when they were still a few miles from the village. They were far enough from the Korcari Wilds to be relatively safe from darkspawn but were still too far from Lothering. Everil's body told her rest was necessary, and she imagined Alistair and her hound needed the same. Thus it was decided they would spend the night in the wilderness. 

After poking at the coals of their campfire, Everil rose and regarded her party. “Anyone else hungry?”

Her hound’s head perked up and he let out a bark. Morrigan waved dismissively from her spot by the fire, stashing some herbs she found into her bag.

She then glanced towards the third, whose saddened eyes were focused on the flickering flames. “Alistair?”

He didn't answer, seemingly lost in thought. They had not spoken since leaving Flemeth’s hut, but she hadn’t forced it. She knew exactly how he felt.

Morrigan glanced irritably at him. “Your companion has asked you a question.”

A frustrated breath left him and he stood, then stalked towards the woods, ignoring their confused looks.

“Such a child…” Morrigan muttered, shifting her gaze to the other Warden. “Does he always act this way? If so, then I question what your order saw in him.”

“He just needs some time. He did just lose all his friends.” Everil sighed, folding her arms. “Care to join me in the hunt then? You know these woods far better than I.”

“If I must.” She rose to her feet, then walked past her. “Though I have only crossed these parts twice.”

They went in the opposite direction from Alistair, followed by the hound as he sniffed the ground. Everil glanced at the strange woman beside her, her pale skin almost glowing under the light of the moon as it filtered down through the canopy of the trees. She was an apostate raised outside of the Circle’s walls and the daughter of a fabled witch. But although there was an unnatural aura about her, Morrigan appeared to be perfectly human. Yet she wondered how much of that was true. If perhaps this girl was not actually Flemeth’s flesh and blood.

Her curiosity eventually got the best of her. “So you have never actually traveled far from home?” 

Morrigan gave her a brief glance. “I left it on occasion, but only as far as Lothering. I did intend to travel someday, but I suppose ‘tis always hard to leave one’s home.”

“It is...” she quietly agreed. “So this is truly what you wanted? Your mother was not forcing this upon you?”

“What I wanted was… To see mountains. To witness the ocean and step into its waters...” She gazed up at the moon as they walked, speaking as if she were picturing the images in her head. “To see the wonders of a city without having to imagine them in my mind. So yes… I suppose this is what I wanted.”

“I see… I’m glad you will at least have that chance. Though it's a shame it’s not under better circumstances.”

Rustling ahead made them pause in their steps as a hare hopped out of the bushes. Bjorn growled at it, only to be shushed by his mistress. 

Everil reached back to draw her weapon. “Great… I don't have a bow.”

“I have something better,” Morrigan whispered back with a smirk. “Just refrain from running away in fear, Warden.”

Suddenly the witch’s body began to glow, making Everil back away in surprise. Her bright form morphed and shrank before her very eyes. And then a hawk shot forth, aiming at the defenseless hare. The animal squeaked as razor-sharp talons pierced its skin, then the bird twisted, breaking its neck in one swift motion. The hawk’s form then lit up once more, and in a second, Morrigan’s body replaced it, one hand holding the lifeless hare by the ears.

“Maker…” was all Everil could say.

Smiling wickedly, Morrigan slowly approached her and handed her their meal. “You may at least close your mouth while you stare.”

“S-Sorry… I didn't expect you to just suddenly… Was that magic?”

“Of course it was," Morrigan replied as she began to make her way back to her.

“I… I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Tis not unheard of in the remote corners of the world, despite what the zealots in the Chantry would have you believe. Such magic is oft’ passed down as carefully guarded lore from generation to generation. By mages like my mother.”

The Warden trekked after her, eyeing her in silent wonder. “I think such traditions should be preserved.”

“Oh? You do not believe as the Chantry does?” Morrigan’s brows went up in mild interest. “That I could be some abomination to be put to the torch?”

“No. I think being able to turn into animals seems quite useful.” She smiled up at her, lifting the hare for emphasis.

“My…” she chuckled. “That is a most practical answer. More so than any man has ever said to me before. How refreshing.”

“I'm pleased to hear it. Though next time you do that perhaps you could give me a little more warning. I think I nearly died of a scare back there.”

Her smile broadened. “I shall keep that in mind.”

Morrigan’s surprise was genuine. Throughout Ferelden’s history, anyone who witnessed her mother’s powers either fled or tried to slay her. And it was those very fools who managed to survive her ire that spread the legends around the Witch of the Wilds. Tales that spoke of the hag that dragged children out from their homes in the middle of the night, taking them away to be devoured while their screams echoed throughout the woods. They also spoke of evil women who ate the hearts of men, having lured them with their beauty and used their bodies until they were nothing but soulless shells. There may have been some truth to some of those tales, she could not be sure, since her lifespan was but a fraction of the mother’s. But Flemeth often spoke bitterly of some when warning her young daughter of the ignorance of men. Perhaps journeying with this Grey Warden, however, would bring her a different viewpoint.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

After leaving the woods, they traveled along the Imperial Highway as it took them to the less dangerous woods of Ferelden’s most settled farmlands—the Hinterlands. The wide road circled the entire country, passing through or by many towns from their location in the south, all the way to The Coastlands in the north. It was ancient, built by the Tevinter Imperium during the time in which they ruled all of Thedas, in order to facilitate their expansion and trade. As the most convenient way of travel, it was used mostly by caravans and merchants carrying their wares from town to town. Unfortunately, that meant it also drew unwanted attention from undesirables seeking to make easy coin and prey upon those journeying unprepared. Still, it was much safer than venturing through the land around it, and the clear direction it offered made it easier to avoid getting lost along the way.

The afternoon sun hung over them before they entered a covered part of the highway, the street raised over stone as it crossed through a wide depression in the terrain. A high roof hovered over their heads, held up by thick pillars made of rock over which some weeds crawled. They were nearing the outskirts of the village when they encountered a group of men standing ahead. Wagons, crates, and several bodies surrounded them as they chatted merrily to each other, some sitting leisurely on their apparent loot, while others rummaged through the corpses. All were dressed in rugged, hardened leather, covered in dirt from head to toe, and splattered in blood. Everil eyed them cautiously, already expecting trouble as she led her companions through the only path they could take.

“Ah, more travelers!” One of the men rose from his spot on a crate, dirty boots walking over a dead body as he advanced towards them. The others gathered behind him, spreading out and blocking their way through. 

“Wait, boss,” another spoke as she and her party came to a stop before them. “Look at their armor… These be Grey Wardens.”

Their boss shrugged his shoulders. “So? What of it? The tax applies to everyone, Hog.”

“You’re in our way. What tax are you talking about?” Everil crossed her arms, pinning the man with a glare.

“Oh! So the pretty one is the leader…” A wicked grin spread over his filthy face. “We're collecting coin to fix the highway. As you can see, it’s in poor shape.” He gestured to the objects scattered about and to the dead travelers to whom they once belonged.

“Fools…” Morrigan glowered at them from the rear. “They dare block our advance? I say teach them a lesson.”

Alistair quietly watched the exchange, standing near his fellow Warden with a hand on the hilt of his blade.

“So you’re tax collectors…” Everil’s tone was as frigid as a winter’s night. “Is that what you told these people before you killed them?”

“They were already dead when we got here. The darkspawn got to ‘em first. The poor sods…” The leader sighed and shook his head in mock sympathy. “That’s why we’re collecting the money. To clean up their mess.”

Her irritation grew tenfold. “As your friend said, we are Grey Wardens. I have seen with my very eyes the carnage darkspawn leave in their wake and this is not their doing. I will give you one last chance to answer honestly. Did you kill these people?”

His men fidgeted uncomfortably, but he seemed unaffected by her piercing stare. “Yes, we did. What’s it to you?”

She lashed out, punching him across the face and knocking him flat on his rear. Shocked, he spat blood, the inside of his cheek burning where teeth had pierced flesh.

“You bitch!” One of them reached for a dagger.

In one fluid motion, Alistair drew his sword and pressed the tip of the blade to the man’s throat. Then his eyes narrowed threateningly. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

He gulped, the Warden’s sword gracing his Adam’s apple as he slowly lowered his hand.

“These people were fleeing from the Blight! They had enough to fear without bandits preying upon them!” Everil stared down their boss as if he were nothing but dirt under her shoe. “Get up and get out of here. Leave everything you stole. If I ever see you around here again, I will end you.”

“Heh…” he scoffed and slowly stood, wiping red off his chin. “Fine… Have it your way.” He produced a pouch from under his leathers, dropping it to the ground. 

“But… boss!” another one of his men spoke up.

“Shut up! These are the same people that killed King Cailan! This isn't worth the risk!”

Her eyes went wide. “Killed… King Cailan?”

“I didn’t see it at first, but you fit the description.” He rubbed his sore face, then stalked past her party. “Come on, you idiots. Nothing here's worth losing my life to the likes of 'em.”

They watched them leave with perplexed stares before Everil stepped over to the pouch of coin he dropped. She went on a knee to pick it up and opened it, counting in it only a handful of coppers.  _ Bastards…  _ she thought angrily.  _ This is what they killed these poor people for? They barely had enough to get by… _

“Great…” Alistair huffed, sheathing his blade. “We should be careful in Lothering. I'll bet that’s where they heard that rumor.”

“Ah, so you have finally decided to rejoin us.” Morrigan smirked mockingly at him. “Falling on your blade in grief proved to be too much trouble, I take it?”

As they argued, Everil moved to inspect the corpses, shoulders tense as she rummaged through their belongings. It didn’t feel right taking what the bandits killed them for, but they had little choice. She managed to find a few more coppers, then iron rings that weren’t really worth much. A breath escaped her as she stashed her findings, fearing that none of it would be enough to get what they needed.

Alistair shot Morrigan an indignant scowl. “Is my being upset so hard to understand? Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?”

“Before or after I stopped laughing?”

“Right… Very creepy. Forget I asked.”

After taking a couple of cloaks from the dead, Everil rose to her feet and frowned at the witch. “Let him be, Morrigan.”

“But how can I?” She pointedly gestured towards him. “He’s standing right there! With huge, sad eyes like those of a brainless calf on its way to slaughter.” 

He glared at her, increasingly annoyed. “Is this the part where we’re shocked to discover how you’ve never had a friend your entire life?”

Morrigan folded her arms and shrugged. “I can be friendly when I desire. Alas, wanting to be more intelligent does not make it so.”

“At any rate… I agree with Alistair,” Everil interjected, trying to change the subject while also handing one of the cloaks to him. “We should cover our armor as a precaution and watch ourselves. We will purchase what we need today and leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Good idea.” He gave a short nod and threw the dirty cloak over his shoulders, the black fabric blocking most of his gear from view. And as they resumed their walk, Everil did the same with hers. She looked towards the small houses bunched together below the raised wall of the highway, gentle plumes of smoke rising from their chimneys.


	10. Lothering

⚜

  
  
  
  


**_U_ ** _ pon arriving in Lothering, Everil  _ walked down the ramp from the highway, hands closing into fists as she witnessed the full extent of the situation in the south. An acrid scent of blood, dirt, and waste drifted towards them as the cold breeze blew over from the tents set up at one side of the village. Some people huddled in groups near their make-shift camp or by their wagons, praying to the Maker for protection. Others were frantically patching up the wounded who encountered darkspawn or bandits along the way. While Templars, clad in their silver plate armor, walked the streets, attempting to maintain order in the chaos. The depressing view definitely took away from what little scenery there was as the town’s great windmills blended into a background of misery.

“Ah, there it is… Lothering. Pretty as a painting.” Alistair spread his arms dramatically next to her, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“It seems the village already knows the darkspawn horde is approaching.”

He released a troubled sigh. “Yes, I would say they have just a few days left. A week tops. Most of these people will likely keep moving north. The rest probably won’t be able to travel or will be too stubborn to leave their lands behind.”

They descended the rest of the way and trekked past the tents by the entrance, glancing about as grim faces looked their way. The cool weather and darkened skies didn't help lighten the mood, while the distant cries of children and the injured just made it worse. The town’s Chantry soon came into view, its walls towering over the small buildings around it. More Templars stood guard near it while a single priest attached pieces of paper to a board by the gates.

“So… I’m wondering,” Alistair began as they continued to walk. “How are we supposed to get any gear when we don’t have the coin for it?”

Everil’s brow creased. “I’m working on that… But first, I want to look for my brother, Fergus. He was not part of the king’s main forces. So if he survived Ostagar, then I believe he may have made his way here too.”

“It's possible...”

“I do not believe so,” Morrigan said wryly, stopping in her tracks. “Mother told me in great detail how the darkspawn decimated your armies. Your brother is probably dead, just as all the other soldiers.” 

The two Wardens halted and turned to her, Everil’s eyes wide at her bluntness.

“How very sensitive of you.” Alistair shot the witch yet another irritated look. “What will we find out about you next? That you eat poor, defenseless puppies? Because that wouldn't surprise me at all at this point.”

Bjorn whined, shrinking away at his comment.

She rolled her eyes. “I am simply stating the obvious. Seeking a lost cause will only further waste precious time.”

“How can you even—”

“She’s right.”

They both faced Everil.

“There are bigger things to worry about at the moment.” She spun on her heel and resumed her steps. “Now, come on. Let's go find a merchant.”

Alistair frowned at the back of her head, knowing he would probably be wanting to do the same thing if he had any hope Duncan might still be alive. If there was even the slightest chance he would have fled the battle to save himself. But he fought alongside the king, so if Cailan perished, he was certain his mentor did too.

They kept moving further into the village, through the narrow streets, and by more wooden houses. Some villagers were leaning against walls or sitting on the ground beside their homes, watching them pass with little interest. A small bridge went over a rolling stream running through the village, which they crossed to reach the town square. Children ran past them from the side, joining another chasing an unlucky chicken by the pens in a corner, the road near them leading to the farmland beyond. All were dirty and with smiles on their faces, oblivious to the danger approaching day by day. 

Soon they reached the only store they could find. It was a wooden hut, its outside walls worn and faded from exposure to Ferelden’s often rainy and frigid weather. Everil opened the door and entered as the others followed, eyes glancing around at the rough build of the objects hanging on display. Wooden shields, iron swords, simple bows, and some miscellaneous gear. All made or bought by the rugged, middle-aged man behind the counter.

“New faces…” greeted the owner as he folded his arms over a broad chest. “And it seems you’re better off than the sods that keep showing up in the village.”

Ignoring his comment, Everil approached him, placing both hands on the wooden table. “We need camping gear and cooking tools. Do you have anything of the sort?”

“Hrm… Yes. I have a few tents and other things the folk outside haven't claimed yet. The damn Chantry forced me to give them my merchandise, saying some hogwash about helping the needy.” He met her gaze, a glint in his eye as he ran a hand throughout a thick beard. “But you’re clearly not the needy sort, so you’ll have to pay extra… Bigger demand, you know…”

“Not the needy sort?” Alistair repeated with a humorless half-smile. “Don’t let the fancy swords fool you, we’re very much poor at the moment.”

“What can we get for this much coin?” Everil produced the pouch they'd taken from the bandits, placing it on the table before him.

The man opened it and dumped the coins onto the table, scowling upon seeing the meager amount. “You can get just half a tent! If you ain't willing to make an offer worth my time, you might as well walk out of my store, lass.”

“Such a greedy little man…” Morrigan commented with an annoyed glare.

“Can't you be a bit more lenient?” Alistair gave him a pleading look. “We seriously need this stuff.”

The shopkeeper huffed. “I’m here to make business, not for charity. The Chantry already robbed me of my earnings. So cough up something worth my while or get out.”

Everil thoughtfully looked at the coin with knitted eyebrows. Their journey would be long and arduous. They required the tents for shelter and the cooking gear for their meals. She also needed a bow and some arrows for hunting. Just the trip from here to the next village would take close to a week on foot. And they could not risk getting ill from exposure to the elements, especially in Ferelden’s often freezing nights.

“Very well…” Slowly, she reached up for the golden chain currently hanging from her neck along with the Joining pendant, sliding it up and over her head. She reluctantly placed it over the coins, releasing a heavy breath. “How much would you give me for this…?”

“Hrn…” He took the jeweled medallion between his calloused fingers, observing the detail of the two branches over its surface. “Ain’t this Highever's coat of arms?”

Everil nodded and crossed her arms. “It's gold encrusted with diamonds. It used to belong to the teyrn and teyrna of Highever.” 

“Aye… Seems quite valuable," said the shopkeeper, biting onto the small medal as he tested her claim. “Where'd you get this, girl?”

“Does it matter?”

There was a pause.

“Nay… I hear the Couslands are all dead, anyways. I can make me a good sum of coin off this. Especially up in Denerim after I leave here this week.” He shrugged and gave her a dismissive wave while stashing the necklace in his pocket. “Pick whatever you need. It's yours.”

“Not so fast…” Everil’s eyes hardened, her tone turning frigid. “That necklace is worth more than any of the rubbish you’re selling. I want our gear, a bow, and coin to go along with it.”

Morrigan and Alistair exchanged a brief glance before staring at her with raised brows. 

“Now, that’s a good joke,” he laughed before his expression darkened. “I ain’t giving you any coin. Just take the rest and leave my—”

A sword was thrust at his face, shocking him into a stupor as the point hovered inches from his nose. 

The woman’s eyes turned dangerously into slits. “Whoever said I was joking? Give me all the coin you have plus what we need and we may call it even.”

He gulped, staring at that edge and at the intent behind her stare. It was true he would make whatever he was owed and a little extra as soon he sold the trinket, but he half expected she wouldn’t have known better. That she would be foolish and desperate enough to leave him her treasure and walk out with the subpar merchandise. But it was obvious that was not going to be the case.

“Fine, fine…” Glowering at her, he slowly reached under the counter and produced a large pouch, letting it fall upon the table with a thump. “This be all of it.”

She glanced towards Alistair. “Please inspect it.”

“Got it…” He stepped forth and picked up the bag, opening it. “There’s a handful of coppers… About ten or fifteen silvers… Oh, and three sovereigns?” He gave the man a curious look. “This is quite a bit of coin considering the size of this village. How in the Maker’s name did you make this much here?”

“I’m willing to bet the Chantry stepped in because he was taking advantage of the refugees, just as he tried to take advantage of us,” Everil answered for him, her glare still upon the shopkeeper. “Am I wrong?”

The man only scowled at her, silence his only answer.

“Why am I not surprised?” Alistair sighed and shook his head. During dire times like these, it was always the weak who received the short end of the stick. Their hardship made them easy prey for those looking to enrich themselves at the expense of their misery. And it didn't help that the majority of the common folk were illiterate, so while most had enough wits about them, many did not know what went on outside of their own little towns and settlements.

“All right…” She lowered her weapon. “Let’s pick up what we came for and get the rest of what we need elsewhere.”

They proceeded to stuff a travel bag with three tents, a pot, and utensils, all the while the shopkeeper merely watched, keeping his mouth shut the entire time. The three of them and the hound then made for the door, with Alistair carrying the bag over one shoulder. Everil stopped before exiting, turning to the merchant as she sheathed her sword, bow and quiver now strapped to her back.

“Don’t forget that it was your own greed that got you into this mess. Good day,” she muttered irritably, and without waiting for a reply, walked out and slammed the door shut.

“Damn it…” the merchant grumbled. “Who were those people?”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

After leaving the town’s only merchant they split up to trade with the traveling caravans for the rest of what they needed. Alistair was sent away to pick up food they could carry with them on the road while Morrigan fetched medicinal poultices and herbs they didn’t already have. Everil tasked herself with the wine and furs, not wanting to risk any of them falling to water illness or sleep on the cold ground without covers to keep them warm.

The night was falling by the time she was done running her share of the errands and she approached the inn, a bag strapped to one shoulder and Bjorn tailing her. As they neared the door, her ears caught the banter of two men standing outside. They each seemed to be farmers, covered in dirt and grime while drinking after a long day’s work. One of them was leaning against the inn’s wall, a pint of ale in one hand. “I hear Teyrn Loghain is recruiting people for the war against the darkspawn.”

“After what happened to the king?” the other man said with a scoff, scratching the scruff on his face. “I’m telling ya, I ain’t joining no army unless they make me.”

“Well, they say the teyrn was the one who killed the king. That it was over the crown,” the farmer said quietly, yet not quietly enough for her not to hear.

“Really? I thought it was the Grey Wardens that did him in.”

“Aye.” He shrugged and took a drink before wiping his mouth. “But who knows what’s what? You can’t trust anyone these days.” 

Everil let out a dry chuckle, murmuring to herself, “You can say that again...” 

Tired of eavesdropping on the topic, she opened the door to the building and stepped into the tavern. Music from a lone town bard greeted her, the melody of the lute instantly putting a little cheer in her chest. A fireplace burned at one corner of the room, illuminating the area while also providing it with its warmth. A bar was off at the far side, with an old, balding man standing behind it, polishing cups. The place was small, but full of drinking men in both armor and rags, all either travelers or villagers. They didn’t look at her as she walked by them, too preoccupied with their own drinks to care. 

She took a seat in an open table and set down the pack with the furs and the bottles of wine she managed to trade with one of the traveling wagons. It had been a bit more expensive than expected, but those people needed the coin more than her party did. And at least they had been more reasonable than the man who now kept her necklace in his pocket.

With a sigh, she hailed the waitress. 

“Yes, how can I help you, my lady?”

Everil placed a few coins in her hand. “Wine, ham, and bread please.” 

The woman gave her an apologetic bow. “I-I’m afraid we only have ale and cheese, my lady. And the bread, of course.”

“It’s quite all right… Whatever you have is fine.” She smiled, slightly ashamed. She had to remind herself things were not the same in such a tiny village, especially when compared to a large town like Highever.  _ Not to mention food must be scarce right now, with so many refugees. _

Once her meal was set over the table, Everil gave her thanks and pinched at the bread, bringing it to her mouth and chewing slowly. It was nowhere near as good as the bread Nan used to make for them, but it wasn’t as bad as the other nobles made it out to be when they spoke of eating from local towns during their travels. Swallowing, she pinched another bit and took a piece from the cheese, eating in pleasant silence as she waited for her companions to join her as agreed.

But her quiet moment was rudely interrupted when a knife stabbed her table with a loud thunk. It was held by an armored hand, one she slowly followed up with her eyes, along the arm and up to its owner. He had intricate plated armor on his body. Expensive gear. Which meant that he was likely a knight serving under someone powerful or a powerful man himself.

“What’s a beautiful woman such as yourself doing in a place like this? And all alone, no less...” The gruff man snickered down at her, dark skin and black hair clashing against the shining silver of his armor.

Bjorn growled from beneath the table, his whole body tensing with hostility. She reached under and scratched his ear, her way of telling him everything was fine. Her hound was still injured, and this man didn’t look to be the compassionate type. He could surely kill her dog without a second thought.

“Considering the number of people coming into the village these days, I find that question rather foolish.” Everil returned her attention to the food, completely unfazed by his attempt at intimidation. “I also fail to see how my purpose here is any of your concern.”

“How dare you, woman?” he growled at her, clenching his jaw. “You will address me with respect, for I serve as knight to Teyrn Loghain. Your new king.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize he would be crowned king in such a short time. King Cailan’s body is not even cold yet.” She earned another angry look from him as she nonchalantly dipped some bread in ale and nibbled on it. 

“You dare slander King Loghain’s name?”

She swallowed and licked her lips before lifting her nose at him. “I believe the better question here is… Why are you bothering me?”

“Hmph… That tongue of yours will surely get you killed one day. Which may be today…” He leaned down, his face so close she could smell the ale he drank moments before. “You resemble one of the Grey Wardens I saw in Ostagar. The same ones my king ordered we execute on sight.”

“I don’t know what you speak of, ser. I only just arrived here.”

“Sure you do…” He reached for her, gloved fingers brushing the soft waves of her locks. “I remember that beautiful girl… She was the last Grey Warden to arrive with Duncan.”

Everil stiffened at the intrusion, her hold on the cup tightening. “I don't know who this Duncan is. Now, would you please—”

“Don’t lie to me, woman!” He grabbed a fistful of hair and forcibly lifted her from the chair, drawing a cry. “I know it’s you!”

Growling furiously, she slammed the iron pint against his face with all her might. It smashed his nose while splashing ale all over, forcing him to release his hold on her. He stumbled back, whimpering in pain while attempting to catch the blood now pouring freely down his chin and to the floor. At the same time, all noise stopped and the doors to the tavern opened as Alistair and Morrigan walked in, pausing at the scene that greeted them.

Their companion stood by a table, holding a dented ale mug in one hand while casting a murderous glare upon a man who was currently trying to put his face back together. 

“What in the…?” Alistair blinked. 

Morrigan sighed with a roll of her eyes. “My, but the fun never ends...”

“I don't know what your problem is, but I suggest you stand down if you wish to return to your Teyrn Loghain in one piece,” Everil bit out as the rest of her party began to approach her from behind. 

Other armored soldiers stood from their seats around the bar, walking towards the knight. They seemed lower in rank, however. Possibly guards accompanying him in his travels.

“Loghain…?”Alistair asked stiffly, scowling at them. “I take it they know who we are.”

Her intense stare never left the men. “Yes… That one remembered me.”

“Ah, so there's another Grey Warden still alive!” the knight bellowed, a smirk spreading over his bloodied features. “Even better… We'll kill them both in my lord's name!”

“Hah! Right... Says the fellow with the broken face,” Alistair mocked with a smirk.

A redheaded woman dressed in red and white robes approached the bunch, the golden flaming sword upon her chest marking her as a sister from the Chantry. She stepped between the Wardens and the soldiers, hands clasped over her skirt. Her voice was soft as velvet. “Gentlemen, please. Many people here are scared and weary. You will only frighten them more.”

“I don’t care about any of them!” The knight regarded everyone around him angrily, waving a dismissive hand before pointing at them. “They are dead meat anyway. These bastards betrayed the king and now seek to slander my lord's name. I will not allow them to continue living.” He glared directly at her. “Now, get out of the way sister. Or you will be cut down too!”

One of them reached for her and the sister swiftly responded, arms shooting out and grabbing his. She instantly disarmed him, twisting the limb behind his back. “Please, violence is not the answer to every problem...” The nun strained his arm further until a pop was heard. He cried out, trying to free himself from her as another soldier tried to help his friend. 

Everil watched in stunned silence as the smaller woman easily forced her victim to his knees and spun to kick the other between the legs.

“Ooh…” Alistair winced.

The man squeaked breathlessly as he fell to the floor, hands covering his screaming groin. Another soldier cried out as he and his friends joined in.

With a determined stare, Everil quickly threw a punch, hitting one across the face before he could use his weapon. Then she ducked from an axe as she drew her dagger, deflected a hit before bringing her blade back around and hitting his head with the pommel. She kicked him in the gut, forcing all air out of him before punching him in the jaw. The man fell on his back, and another swung down with his blade, which she knocked away with an upwards hit.

Meanwhile, Alistair blocked a sword with an armored arm and swung with the other, his closed fist connecting with the man’s mouth. He punched again, this time knocking him to the floor. Another soldier came, trying to run him through with a blade. The Warden dodged and grabbed his sword arm before striking him in the gut. 

A disinterested Morrigan stood back, arms crossed while watching the others brawl. Until one of the men got too close, trying to grab her. She dodged and pulled her staff from her back and swung, striking his face and sending him falling onto a nearby table.

Loghain’s knight rushed in, reaching for Everil as he drew his sword. But before he could grab her, the sister drew a dagger and blocked his attack. The knight snarled, the bleeding nose giving him a savage look as he put all strength into his sword, making her struggle against the blade. 

“Move sister!” Everil commanded from the rear as she dashed towards them.

The nun did, breaking the stalemate as he stumbled forward. Everil moved in low, the blade missing her head as she sliced through his exposed elbow, severing muscle and tendons. He dropped his sword, wailing and falling on a knee while cradling the arm.

In a blink, Everil was pointing her sword at him, casting a cold look upon him. 

“Stop!” He swallowed, looking to the floor in defeat. “We yield…” 

Around them, his men were slowly rising, all groaning, bleeding, and with bruises of their own.

The sister walked up to her. “They have surrendered. There is no need for further bloodshed. Please, spare them.”

Everil gave her a sideward glance, and after a long pause, slowly lowered her weapon. “Very well…” she uttered with a scowl before suddenly grabbing the knight by his breastplate and looking him in the eye. “Send a message to Loghain for us. Tell him the Grey Wardens know what really happened.”

“Y-Yes, of course! Right away!” He nodded frantically, pushing himself up and ushering his men out. The group watched them leave as she sheathed her weapon.

“Thank you for sparing them. You are kind.” The sister bowed her head lightly. “My name is Leliana. I am a lay sister of the Chantry… or I was.”

“My name is Everil, and these are Alistair and Morrigan.” She gestured towards them. Her dog emerged from under the table, sitting beside her as he gave the nun a bark in greeting. “And this is my hound, Bjorn.” 

“Well met.” Leliana nodded at them. 

Everil raised an inquisitive brow, eyeing the dagger strapped to the woman’s back. “So… where does a sister learn to fight like that?”

The nun chuckled, her laughter as light and alluring as silk. “We aren’t all born in the Chantry, you know. Some of us come from… more colorful pasts.”

“I see... Well, thank you for—”

“Oh, this must be what my dream meant!” Leliana suddenly took her hand in both of hers, making her tense. Then her blue eyes turned steely as they stared straight at hers. “I would like to come with you on your journey. To help battle the Blight.”

“What?” the three party members voiced in unison.

“W-Why so eager to help?” Everil questioned, feeling a little uncomfortable under the woman’s beautiful eyes.

Leliana slowly let go of her, looking at the floor nervously as she fumbled with her fingers. “This is going to sound completely insane…. But I had a dream. A vision! The Maker told me to help you!”

“Oh, great… More crazy. I thought we were all full up,” Alistair muttered from behind Everil.

“I-I don’t know what to say...” Everil grinned awkwardly. It wasn't every day someone walked up and claimed to see visions and premonitions. And it certainly was unusual for a nun to just offer up her help to fight monsters. “We do need the help, yes, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

Leliana’s smile didn't waver. “I’m quite skilled in combat, as you saw. That would be useful, no? Please think about it, at least.” They watched as she made for the door, waving sweetly at them. “I will be at the Chantry. Seek me out once you have made your decision.” And she was gone just as the music picked back up and those in the tavern returned to their drinks and chats as if nothing happened.

Alistair cautiously regarded his fellow Warden. “You’re not going to let her join us, are you?”

“I don't know… She was odd, but also impressive to watch.”

“I suppose so…”

“Come on.” She started towards the bar counter. “Let's see if we can still get a room after all the mess we caused…”


	11. Darkspawn in Lothering

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he inn's room was small, cold, _ and lit by the flickering flame of a few candles. A single window let the chilling breeze flow in as the scent of dirt and manure wafted from the farmlands outside. Chatter from the tavern below could still be heard, barely muffled by the floorboards. A jar of dirty water and a loaf of stale bread were the only compliments of the house, sitting over the rickety table by the door and next to one of the candles. The bedroom was also furnished with a single wooden chair, a nightstand, and two single beds, topped with a mattress stuffed with straw and covered in wolf furs. Not exactly comfortable when compared to what she was used to, but it was far better than sleeping on the ground.

“I can’t believe we’re having to pay more coin just because Morrigan wanted a room for herself,” Alistair grumbled from behind the flimsy wooden panel currently separating his side of the room from hers. He was unclasping one of his pauldrons after having removed his gauntlets and leather pack. All the armor suddenly felt heavier thanks to how tired and worn out he was, his recovering body having been protesting against all the layers and the weight for a while now.

“I don’t blame her. She appears used to being alone and doesn't trust easily.” Everil sat at the edge of her bed, leaning over to undo the buckles on her boots after having taken off her breastplate and hauberk. Bjorn curled up by her feet, lying over the small piece of worn fur they had for a carpet.

“I think she’s just a hateful shrew... I don't trust her.” He curiously peeked over the divider at her. “Do you?”

“She and her mother saved us. I think she deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

“Yeah, maybe...” he sighed.

There was a brief silence as she slid off one boot, placing it near the bed before proceeding to work on the other.

“What about me? Do you trust me?”

Everil's surprised gaze went towards the makeshift wall, finding his question slightly unexpected. She thought back on what they endured thus far. He witnessed her losses just as she had his. Each time they picked each other up, pushing one another to keep moving forward. To continue on with their duty despite the grief and the sorrow. They traveled together. Fought together. Even very nearly died together. And as the only two Grey Wardens left, they were now trying to save a nation against all odds, together. 

Never had she held such a strong sense of camaraderie with anyone before. At least with no one outside of Ser Gilmore and her family. A smile spread over her lips at the realization. “Of course I trust you… I dare say we’re even friends now.”

There was a pause, followed by a light-hearted chuckle. “I suppose we are, huh?”

The sound of more clanking metal filled the room as he removed the last of the steel plates. Then he emerged from behind the divider, clad in only a linen undershirt, trousers, and boots. “Good thing too! Imagine sharing a room like this otherwise.”

And when she went to gaze at him, with a smart comment on her tongue, the words never made it out of her mouth. In the time they traveled since Highever, he never once removed that Grey Warden armor in her presence. And he just made her aware of the fact that she had never been alone in a bed-chamber with a man. Not even Gilmore.

Virgin eyes instantly wandered over the rippling muscles beneath that thin, white fabric, taking in solid pecs and strong, broad shoulders. They traveled down to his muscular arms, the curves and bumps like hills asking to be explored. And she went further south to powerful legs, his thighs and calves clearly capable of carrying all that heavy gear for hours at a time.

Everil could not tell if all the tragedy they experienced thus far had a play in it, but all of a sudden she wanted nothing more than to be held by those strong arms. To be pressed tightly against that hard body and kissed tenderly by those full lips. All the while feeling the gentle slip of his fingers through her hair and hearing him whisper reassuring words in her ear as he made love to her.

Oh, how she yearned to just forget about everything and feel good again. If only for a moment. But she knew these impure thoughts were only due to the whirlwind of emotions that raged within her. By the lingering grief and pain. By the desolation she felt knowing that she had no one left in her life. No one but this man. Someone she barely knew and whose friendship was still new.

“Everil...?” he called with concern, completely oblivious. “Want me to go outside?”

She gave her head a shake, snapping out of her reverie before looking back at him. Her gaze focused on his face and she felt herself blush. She chuckled innocently and turned away, trying hard not to show her embarrassment. “No… You’re fine. Like I said, I trust you. So I know you won’t try anything.”

“Ah… Good.” He smiled a little. There was no way for him to tell what was going through her head, but he figured she was just tired. They had yet to sleep the entire night thanks to the dangers around them back at the edge of the Wilds.

“But, just so you know…” She grinned teasingly, tilting her head while trailing lithe fingers along the mattress. “I wouldn’t exactly turn you away if you tried...”

“Uhm… Huh?” His eyes turned to saucers at the confession, a light tint of red rushing to his cheeks. All right, now he knew what she’d been thinking.

“I’m sorry!” She couldn't help but let out a stream of laughter at his reaction. “It’s but a joke. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Maker…” Alistair croaked and cleared his throat before placing a hand to his chest. With all the insanity they went through, he had almost forgotten her bold sense of humor. “Could you… not do that? I have a weak heart.” 

“Oh, I’m sure your heart is fine.” Everil rolled her eyes and slid off her gloves, placing them on the nearby nightstand. Reaching for her bag, she pulled it up next to her and sat cross-legged. She rummaged through it and produced a map, unrolling it across her lap. It was time to stop torturing herself and get back to the task at hand. The last thing she wanted was to make things awkward between them.

“All right… We should probably use this opportunity to plan our next stop.” Everil motioned for him to come over, so he pulled a chair from the corner and set it next to her bed. He sat with the back to his chest, resting both arms over it while gazing at the map. 

“I looked at the treaties, and as we said before, we can get help from the dwarves, Dalish elves, and mages.” She pulled out a piece of charcoal and began to circle locations. “If I remember my scholar's teachings… The dwarves are here. Mages are here. And last I heard, the Dalish elves were in the Brecilian Forest… Here. Is this correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“You said the arl of Redcliffe could aid us...” She pensively tapped her chin before gazing curiously at him. “How can you be sure that he will help us after the rumors being spread about us?” 

“I know because he raised me. He won’t just listen to Loghain without looking into things himself.”

She blinked. “Wait… He raised you? Are you family to the arl?”

Alistair seemed to pale upon realizing what he’d blurted out. He opened his mouth and closed it before averting his eyes. “What? No. I… Uh… I was actually raised by a pack of wild dogs.”

“Wild dogs, huh?” She grinned sarcastically and leaned back against the headboard with arms crossed. “That must have been quite difficult for them...”

He chuckled nervously. There was no way out of it now, but he had to think of something to at least lighten the mood. “Wild, flying dogs, actually. Strict parents and devout Andrastians to boot! That’s why I ended up in the Chantry.” 

“So flying, religious, wild dogs...” She pouted playfully, fluttering her lashes as if he were a lost puppy. “You poor thing…” 

He put on a sheepish half-smile. “Or did I dream all that? Funny the dreams you have when sleeping on the cold, hard ground.”

“Yes… I can imagine,” she chortled, amused by his wild tales. Clearly he was stalling for some reason, possibly unwilling to reveal too much of his past. But if they were to seek out the arl, knowing of his connection with him would help. “May I have the real story, now?”

He drew in a deep breath, mustering a bit of courage. “All right… I’ll tell you.”

“I’m all ears.” She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her folded legs.

“I’m a bastard—”

Everil snickered and opened her mouth.

“—and before you make any smart remarks, I mean the fatherless kind.”

Her playfulness quickly faded into a sympathetic look. Bastard children were regarded as inferior to others. Unwanted and rejected by their fathers, while their mothers were seen as spoiled goods by the men. Such things often gave way to a difficult, lonely childhood and she could now see why he tried to avoid the subject.

A sad smile tugged at his lips. “My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe Castle for many years. Whoever my father was left her with child and she died shortly after giving birth to me. I had no one to take care of me, so the arl found it in his heart to take me in and raise me as if I were his own.”

A confused crease formed over her brow. “But why did he send you off to the Chantry? If you were like a son to him...”

“Arl Eamon married a young Orlesian woman. Which by the way caused all sorts of problems with King Maric, since it was so soon after the war.” His dejected stare fell, voice completely devoid of the frivolity it usually carried. “The new arlessa was already on the defensive by the time she came to live in the castle. And when she heard others whisper I was the arl’s son through an affair with a commoner, she felt threatened.”

“Why didn’t the arl do something to stop those rumors?”

Alistair gave a feeble shrug. “He didn't mind them, but she did. She cared a great deal about appearances, especially living in a country where she was seen by many as both an enemy and a foreigner.” Another sigh escaped him as he once again regarded her, the grin that spread on his lips not quite reaching his eyes. “So off I went, shipped to the nearest monastery at age ten to train in the fine arts of mage hunting.” He let out a humorless chuckle at the bitter memories. “Just as well… By that time the arlessa had made sure the castle wasn't a home to me anymore. She despised me and made sure to let me know every chance she got.”

“What a terrible thing to do to a child…” A caring expression formed on her face. It was no wonder he often coated serious matters with humor. It seemed he learned to use it to cope with everything that happened to him.

“I suppose… But I don’t begrudge her for it. Now that I’m older, I can see why the rumors bothered her so.” Alistair sighed miserably, hanging his head as a self-deprecating look befell him. “I was so angry when the arl told me the news… I remember throwing my mother’s amulet against the wall. It had Andraste’s holy symbol on it—the only thing I ever had of my mother’s. It shattered to pieces…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “What a stupid, stupid thing to do.”

She offered him a gentle look. “You were only a child, Alistair.”

“Heh... And raised by dogs. Or might as well have been, the way I acted. But I suppose all bastards behave that way… I don’t know...” He released a wry laugh before turning to her with a pained frown. “Arl Eamon tried many times to visit me at the monastery. He would often come see how I was doing… To talk to me. The few conversations we had ended in me yelling at him for abandoning me. The rest of the time I refused to see him. But he kept trying… Until he just stopped coming.” He let out a worried huff. “I hope he’ll forgive me.”

Everil reached out, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to reassure him. “I’m sure he will… It sounds like he cared about you, in spite of everything.” 

“Thank you.” He breathed in through the nose and then exhaled as if dispelling the uncomfortable feeling the conversation left behind. Then he cleared his throat and grinned lightly at her. “Anyway… Where were we?”

She withdrew her arm and reverted to their map. “Well… Since you’re confident that Arl Eamon will help us, perhaps we should go to him first. Loghain is sure to find out we are alive soon and I don’t believe he will sit idly by for long.” She circled Redcliffe's location, eyes briefly pensive. “Hmm… The arl may be able to get him off our backs, and even provide additional aid as we pick up the support mentioned in the treaties. What do you think?”

Alistair hesitated. He knew they would eventually go to Redcliffe, but hadn’t expected it could be so soon. Even after making the suggestion himself, he had hoped for at least more time to prepare. To be somewhat ready to face what awaited him there.

“Alistair?” Everil frowned at the lack of response. “If you don’t want—”

“No... I just... It's fine.” He pushed himself off the chair and brought it back where he found it. “You're right. We should go to Redcliffe first.”

“Are you sure you will be all right seeing him again?” Her troubled stare followed him as he stepped about the room, blowing out their dying candles. All except for the one on the nightstand next to her. 

Alistair waved off her question, smiling at her. “Hey, you lead, I follow. So long as you don't take us on some suicidal quest, I'm happy.”

“I thought we already were on a suicidal quest,” she laughed dryly.

“Oh, riiight…” He chuckled while heading to his side of the room and she heard his back hit the bed. “See? There are worse things to worry about than my silly childhood traumas.”

With another shake of her head, Everil rolled up the map, stashing it back into her bag before setting it on the floor. After blowing out the last candle, she lay down with a soft sigh, using one of the furs to cover her legs. A moment of quiet stretched over them as she stared at the ceiling, exhaustion slowly settling in. Her heavy eyelids slid shut, but before she drifted away, his voice reached her once more.

“Hey, Everil…”

“Hm…?”

“I'm sorry you had to give up that amulet... It must have been very difficult for you.”

She opened her eyes to again stare at the wooden boards hovering above them, a small smile on her lips. It was kind of him to think of her, especially after having poured his own heart out just moments ago. He seemed to be the type to put others before himself, which she found was rather rare. “It's fine… I don't need a trinket to remember my family. And we had to have the coin.”

“I just… I should have been able to help you. Instead, all I've done since before we left the Wilds is wallow in my own grief and feel sorry for myself…” he murmured, his words riddled with guilt.

“You’re mourning those you lost... I understand.”

“I know that you do... but you needed me.” A frustrated breath left him and then his voice was filled with conviction. “I promise it won't happen again.”

“It's all right... You were there for me before.” Everil craned her head to the divider. “And that you're still here now is good enough for me.”

A single, breathy chuckle soon followed. “Aw... Now you just made me blush…”

She laughed a little, rolling her eyes. “Good night, Alistair.”

“Good night…”

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜

Frigid darkness swallowed up the light as unintelligible voices echoed in her mind, reaching into her brain like a thousand clawing fingers. With a feeble whine, Everil covered her ears and fell on her knees, folding over into a ball as she tried to block out the relentless noise. Images of severed limbs, disemboweled bodies, and crushed heads flashed before her eyes, the vacant stares of the dead staring hauntingly into her very soul. The scent of rot and decay overwhelmed her nostrils, threatening to make her spill out the contents of her gut as she gagged and shook. Then the scenery changed and darkspawn surrounded her, clashing their weapons together over their heads and chanting in a foreign tongue. 

A loud roar erupted from above and Everil looked up to witness the rise of a mighty dragon, a being she had only seen in history books. It leaned back upon powerful hind legs, spreading its massive wings as it drew in a deep breath. It roared and spit purple fire toward the chamber’s high roof, lighting up the chasm as the darkspawn marched past her and along the underground canyon. The creature turned its gaze upon her and snarled viciously as if knowing she was watching. Its jaws opened wide, showing a row of sharp, jagged teeth before it snapped forth, ready to devour her.

She sat up with a start, and on the other side of their room, she heard Alistair do the same. She panted breathlessly, a hand to her forehead in an attempt to ease the pounding headache.

“Did… Did you see that?” he called hoarsely.

She swallowed, her heart pounding in her ears. “The dragon?”

“That was the Archdemon…”

Rustling was heard from behind the wooden pane as he slid off his bed, the sound soon followed by shuffling footsteps. He stumbled over to one of the candles and scrambled to light it, allowing the flickering flame to illuminate their surroundings. 

“But it was… a nightmare. What does it all mean?” She regarded him with a disturbed expression, watching as he ran a hand down his face.

“Nightmares are but visions brought forth by the connection we share with the darkspawn and the taint. We can sometimes see what they see...” His tired eyes went to her, a troubled crease upon his brow. “And that we saw the Archdemon… It just confirms that this is really a Blight.”

_ Andraste’s mercy… _ Her hand clasped her chest, covering her beating heart as she wore her lip. 

“That thing…” He swallowed uncomfortably and shook his head. “It talks to the horde. And we can hear it, just as they do. Other Wardens… Some have said they could even understand it.”

She frowned. “H-How…?” 

“I don’t know…” he breathed shakily. “I sure can’t tell what it’s saying. All I know is that… it’s terrifying.”

The hound’s ears perked up and he pushed himself up with a growl. Then a series of screams erupted from outside the inn, echoing through the stillness of the night. Both Wardens froze when the dark whispers returned tenfold, taking over their thoughts as they looked at each other through wide eyes.

Alistair’s features paled. “By the Maker… They’re here...”

“Shit!” She threw off her covers and jumped off the bed, reaching for her hauberk and quickly throwing it on. Her pulse raced as she worked the straps and buckles with clenched teeth. Alistair did the same, cursing under his breath as more screams filled the village. Everil buckled her boots and then her gloves. “I thought they wouldn't get to Lothering for a few more days!”

He quickly clasped his greaves in place. “They must have sent a detachment to take the village!”

They swiftly picked up their things and stormed out of the room, bumping into Morrigan on their way down the hall.

“Is it darkspawn?" she asked with urgency as they ran past her and she followed. 

As if on cue, a genlock emerged from the stairs. It growled at them, its body covered in human blood and gore as drool dripped down its chin. It raised up its jagged blade and charged towards them, releasing an inhuman screech. 

“Does that answer your question?” Everil pulled her bow, drew an arrow and fired. It hit between the eyes, causing it to fall with a quiet wail. They rushed down the stairs and through the tavern, over the mangled corpses of the owner and the maids. They threw open the front door, and outside, the village was in chaos. The sound of clashing blades, terrified screams, and dying wails drowned the quiet, all coming from the direction of the refugee camp. Everil took a step, seeing the fires burning as the darkspawn set houses aflame, the light of the blazes igniting the dark skies.

“We cannot defeat them all!” Morrigan said from behind her, her voice barely audible over the screams. “This village is theirs now! We must flee!

A woman and her child were running a distance away, a hurlock in toe with its axe raised. She tripped, and her son fell with her. The creature then cackled loudly and was about to bring death upon them when an arrow pierced the side of its head. It turned to look at the attacker, just to be hit in the face by another arrow. It crumbled to the ground and Everil lowered her bow, craning her head towards the witch. “You may be right, but we still should try to save as many as we can on our way out. Alistair and I will try to help people evacuate the village. In the meantime, I want you to stand back and use your magic on any bastard that gets too close to flanking us.”

Morrigan nodded stiffly, obviously disliking the idea. 

With that, Everil ran, Alistair and Bjorn rushing after her as they crossed the town square towards the chaos across the bridge. She put away her bow and drew her sword and dagger as her feet pounded the ground, her narrowed stare set upon a group of people being chased by hurlocks. They let the innocents run past them as the two Wardens raised their blades, releasing joined battle cries before their weapons clashed with those of their enemies. 

Her sword knocked a hurlock's axe away and she swung back around to cut open its throat. Then she ducked as the one behind it attacked with a mace, avoiding its sidewards strike. As she came up, Everil drove her dagger into its jaw and yanked it out as she pivoted on one foot, promptly dodging another axe. She thrust, piercing the hurlock's chest while kicking another as she recovered her sword. 

Meanwhile, Alistair fought a few steps beside her, blocking a downward hit with his shield before slamming it on the head with it. He slashed sideways, cutting across its chest, sparks flying along with blood as he cut through its weak armor. Then he plunged the blade into its gut and quickly whirled about, pulling the sword along with him as he struck at the axe of another enemy. With a roar, he slashed at its head, hitting its warped helmet and cutting across its hideous face. 

When they reached the area near the Chantry they saw the bulk of the darkspawn numbers were focused on the Templars and on the refugees still trying to flee their ire. The bodies of men, women, and children bled onto the streets as the creatures tore apart tents, wagons, and people. Each Warden headed towards the closest innocents, splitting up to widen their reach. 

An elven family of three cowered against their wagon as five darkspawn closed in on them, ready to tear them to pieces. Everil cried out while slashing at a hurlock from behind, drawing the attention of the rest. She leaned sideways, avoiding a diagonal hit with a sword. Her dagger found its throat before she pushed through the monster to run at the other four. Blood flew as she slashed one, then the next. One by one they fell until the path was cleared.

“Go! Go!” She yelled at the elves and they scrambled, running in a panic towards the back of the town.

Gritting his teeth, Alistair cut down a genlock, then brought his shield up to block a hit from a hurlock. His sword pierced through it and he kicked it off him to quickly step over to the three that rushed at him. His hardened eyes promptly traced their movements and he let them come. One slashed sideways. He crouched and thrust, impaling it. His shield went up, striking at an axe. The Warden's blade cut across its exposed side as he brought his shield arm around, using the edge to hit the third across the face and stagger it. His sword came after it and the hurlock wailed as its chest was pierced through.

Alistair stepped over the corpses towards a woman and four children, who were huddled on the ground, frozen in fear. Her fearful eyes went up to him, promptly seeing the shining griffon on his armor. “A... G-Grey Warden?”

He helped them up before pushing them towards the bridge. “Run towards the northern fields! Hurry!”

Eyes focused, Everil bit her lip, quickly shooting arrows at a small group of darkspawn surrounding a man and his family. Some dropped dead, others were distracted long enough for the refugees to run away. The darkspawn that survived rushed her, but as they approached their bodies erupted into flames, turning into a pile of charred corpses. She turned to see Morrigan standing by the bridge and nodded her way. The Templars didn't seem to notice the witch, too preoccupied fighting for their lives. 

Screams nearby drew her attention as more monsters tried to kill another group of people. Everil drew her blades again, running towards the creatures. She kicked down at one's feet, taking it out before stabbing her dagger into its chest. As she stood, another fell behind her, a stab wound upon its back. 

A familiar sister stood before her, clothes covered in blood. She seemed to have changed her outfit to leather slacks and a leather coat that looked similar to the Chantry robes.

“Leliana!” Everil called to her, both surprised and relieved to see her.

The nun’s eyes widened. “You're here!”

“Everil! There's more of them coming!” Alistair shouted, jogging up to the two women. “There's nothing else we can do on our own! We have to get out of here!”

The grip on her blades tightened, eyes shifting to a large number of darkspawn stampeding through the village gates while cutting down the Templars trying to stop them. She clenched her teeth. If they had been able to stomp the darkspawn threat in Ostagar…

“All right, let's go!” She turned to Leliana. “Do you still wish to join us?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes! Now more than ever!”

“Good! Welcome aboard!” Everil tipped her head and hurriedly ushered them towards the bridge. She sheathed her blades as they ran, taking her bow and shooting several arrows at the enemies following after them. And then they were running across the fields along with the terrified refugees desperately trying to escape. A young girl fell behind with an agonizing cry, one foot crushed by a bear trap placed by the owner of the land. Clicking her tongue, Everil whirled around and hastily went to her, quickly falling on a knee to open the device.

“Help me!” The woman begged, tears flowing down her face.

“I'm trying! You have to—”

A hurlock raised its blade just as the Warden gazed up at her. And it swung, lopping the woman’s head clean off from behind. Everil watched, stupefied as the body slowly fell, the head dropping onto the grass next to it. She was about to draw her weapons when something suddenly grabbed it from behind. A large hand was picking it up by the head as if it were weightless. And she witnessed another hand grab the neck before its head was twisted with a sickening snap. 

Slowly, her shocked stare moved up to a cage as the darkspawn’s body crumbled to the ground, an intimidating creature standing within it. He resembled a man, only several heads taller than her and with a massive, muscular body covered only by dirty linen. His piercing stare was upon her while he scowled, regarding her as if she were nothing but an insect.

He was a qunari. A race of warriors that hailed from the far north past Ferelden's borders.

“Thank you,” she uttered breathlessly.

He mutely turned his head as more darkspawn made their way towards them. And she knew then that he would not survive here. 

Everil swiftly stood, pulled out two pieces of metal from her pack and picked the lock. She wasn’t about to leave anyone she could save behind.

But the man gave her an irritated look instead. “What are you doing, woman? I am a prisoner. Leave me to my fate.”

She glared at him with a firm stare, bright blue eyes shining through the darkness. “A life for a life! Now run!”

Upon releasing him, they hurried the rest of the way towards the northern woods, the giant man single-handedly taking out any darkspawn that dared follow.

As soon as they reached the edge of the forest outside the village, Everil stopped and turned to look back from where she stood. More refugees and villagers were fleeing through the fields, running past her as she stared. The screams of terror could still be heard in the distance as the fires spread throughout the small, wooden huts. Windmill blades also burned as they continued their spin, crumbling over the dead and dying. Even the Chantry glowed red as the darkspawn overtook the Templar knights and set their place of worship ablaze.

“Damn it…” Her hands closed into fists and she gritted her teeth before tearing her eyes away. And she kept running, heading deeper into the brush and away from the falling little town.

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜

“He’s… huge.” 

“Yes. He’s a qunari.” 

“So huge…”

“Alistair…? Are you paying attention?”

He regarded her skeptically, pointing a finger at the creature silently towering over the two of them. “You want him to join us?” He edged closer, whispering to her. “Recruiting the evil witch and the crazy nun wasn’t enough?”

Everil shot him a mildly irritated look. “His name is Sten. And yes, as you just saw in Lothering, we need more able bodies to help us in the fight.”

Also annoyed, Alistair folded his arms, meeting her gaze. “I was just pointing out that we’re starting to look like a traveling freak show. The Grey Wardens are supposed to be respectable, after all.”

“So I may be making the Grey Wardens look bad. Is that what you’re saying?” Her eyes narrowed, a look she hadn’t directed towards him until now. 

The icy blue in her stare chilled him to the bone, making him gulp and take a step back. “N-No! I—”

“You know, I think ending the Blight will be enough to fix any damage I may have caused to the order’s precious reputation.” She turned her back to him and stalked away. Alistair released an exasperated breath, watching as she made for the campfire they scrambled to put together upon finally stopping to catch their breath. They had hardly any sleep, were bloodied, and exhausted. Slumber was no longer an option at this point either, with just moments before dawn. Needless to say, neither of them was in a good mood.

The qunari cast steely eyes upon the tiny man before him. “I believe the woman is upset.”

Sighing softly, Alistair found himself staring at her back as she sat by the fire. And then slowly, guilt crawled up his chest upon realizing what he had just done. He dumped all the responsibility upon her shoulders, and here he was, questioning her decisions after what they just witnessed. 

Watching an entire village massacred by the very enemy they were supposed to defeat served as a cruel reminder of what they were fighting for. He could still hear the screams in his head and see the bodies littering the streets. It was worse than Ostagar on many levels. At least the soldiers who perished were armed and able to fight back. This… This had been nothing short of slaughter. And they both lived it.

“Ooh, I’m an idiot…” he groaned pitifully.

“Is she your leader?”

He folded his arms, his troubled gaze glancing at the giant. “Yes… sort of.”

Sten’s scowl deepened. “A female Grey Warden leading a group of warriors… I do not understand this.”

“Right… I can imagine.” Alistair gave him an odd look, quirking his eyebrow. Qunari was more of a religion than a species. The qun had specific roles for each member of their society, which were decided by birth or the moment an outsider came under their fold. Women were always given non-combatant roles, while the men were raised for battle to defend their people or conquer others. They did not have the best reputation in Ferelden due to the Chantry’s depiction of their society, but their violent history did nothing to help their case. This one seemed to be a warrior, which would no doubt help them in their quest.

“Anyway… Welcome to the party,” he told the towering man, giving him a lopsided grin.

Sten nodded mutely, face still devoid of emotions. 

Giving his head a shake, Alistair once again looked towards his fellow Warden and crossed the distance to her. He approached from behind and took a seat next to her. “Look…” he began, sighing tiredly for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “I’m sorry. You’re right. We need all the help we can get, and being picky isn't a luxury we can afford.” He put on the most apologetic look he could muster while gazing at her profile. “Can we be friends again, please? You can punch me if it’ll make you feel any better.” 

But despite his attempt at humor, Everil did not laugh.

“I just… I wish I could have helped those people.” Her voice was nearly a whisper as she remorsefully stared at the flames. The only other time in which she saw such cruelty was at Howe’s hands in Highever. And again, she had to flee. 

His brow creased at her crestfallen expression, understanding how she felt. “We did what we could… It may not have felt like it was enough, but the people we saved would think otherwise.”

She blew her bloodstained bangs out of her face. “I suppose dying back there would not have helped either.”

“No… It wouldn’t have.” He smiled a little, attempting to cheer her up when even he felt weighed down. “At least if we keep going we can try to save more.”

“Right…”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each of them staring at the fire as their weariness settled over their bodies. It would be nice just to just sleep the rest of the day away. To stop for a few hours and collect themselves. But they had to keep moving. They had to use the light of day and continue on their way. 

With a grunt, she pushed herself to her feet and offered him a hand. “Come on, we need to start walking. If we leave now, we should reach Redcliffe in a few days.”

“Yeah…” He clasped her forearm and let her help him up before once again smiling apologetically at her. “So you’re not angry at me…?”

A light smirk made its way onto her dirt-stained features and she punched him in the arm, drawing a grunt out of him.

“Hey!” His hand went up to rub the now sore spot as he pursed his lips into a pout. “What was that for!”

She let out a weak chuckle. “There. I feel much better now.”

“Well, that wasn’t very nice…” he grumbled with a mock hurt look.

Another soft laugh escaped her. “You offered.”

He watched her turn away and head over to their companions, gesturing for them to gather in order to discuss their plan. All humor faded from his eyes as Alistair gazed at his feet, his mouth forming a tense line before he meekly kicked dirt into the fire. There were things in Redcliffe he was happy to avoid, but now he may have to face much more than just the arl and his past. And as he returned his troubled stare to her, he found himself wishing for more time. More time to be with her as they were now.


	12. Shadows over Redcliffe Village

⚜

  
  
  


**_B_ ** _oots crunched over dirt and gravel_ as the party of five travelers, plus the hound trekked through the Imperial Highway. Three days have passed since they left Lothering behind and they were thankfully getting closer to Redcliffe each day, so far without incident. Gone were the yellows and browns of the swampy woods in the far south as they journeyed deeper through the lush green of the Hinterlands. Pines, ash, and oak trees towered over them, their shade covering the path ahead and shielding them from the afternoon sun. Wildflowers, grasses, and ferns grew over the hills bordering the road, filling the air with their scent as the gentle breeze rustled their leaves. Ferelden may be cold, wet, and dangerous in places, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

The two Grey Wardens walked ahead of the group, armor hidden under their cloaks as their plates, hauberk, and weapons clanked and chimed with every step. They were followed closely by a mabari war hound as it curiously sniffed the ground along the way, sometimes trotting a little faster to catch up after having become distracted by a particular scent. The mage trailed behind them, sending dirty looks to the Chantry sister strolling beside her as the nun's incessant chatter added to her ever-growing irritation. Their qunari companion remained in the back, observing the strange interactions between the humans and half-listening to their conversations. 

“Morrigan, I think you would look marvelous in a purple silk dress. With black lace embroidery and a dangerously low front cut.” Leliana sighed dreamily at the thought, clasping both hands behind her back as she walked. “Oh, and some beautiful blue shoes… Yes, I believe that would suit you too.”

“What are you on about now?” Morrigan turned an annoyed stare towards her, only to see the woman's intense gaze was focused on her overly-exposed chest. Mortified and disgusted, she curled her nose and covered her bosom, noticing that for whatever reason, the nun seemed particularly obsessed with the female figure. “Will you stop gawking at my breasts!”

Leliana smiled sweetly, ignoring the dangerous edge on the witch's voice. “I was only imagining how pretty you would look in a dress. I think we should go shopping sometime.”

“I refuse...”

“Come now, don't be shy! It would be fun!” She giggled with excitement. “Just the two of us lovely women, playing dress-up together in the busy streets of the royal capital of Denerim. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

“There is something seriously wrong with you...” Morrigan muttered grumpily, picking up the pace in an attempt to leave the woman behind.

Further ahead, the Wardens ignored the noise coming from the back, instead, keeping their ears open and eyes peeled for any trouble. Only the sounds of nature and their footsteps filled the silence, but the peace could be deceitful. They passed by a few, lonesome huts and farms by the road as they walked for a few miles, all empty and deserted. 

“It’s so desolate out here…” Alistair commented with a creased brow.

“Some probably already heard what was coming and have moved on north.” Everil’s troubled eyes also took in the emptiness ahead.

The group was crossing a wooden bridge over a flowing river when faint, dark voices grasped at the edges of their minds, causing both her and Alistair to pause.

“Help!” someone called in the distance.

The Wardens exchanged a glance and ran towards the voice without a second thought. Their hasty feet took them over a hill and their sights landed upon a wagon with spilled goods at the edge of the road. Two dwarves stood near it, one of them wielding a short sword as a small group of darkspawn surrounded them. The creatures cackled at their soon to be victims, approaching them slowly as their pale stares focused on them. 

“Leave them be, you bastards!” 

The darkspawn whirled around at the sound of Everil’s voice, seeing her and her party. They roared and charged, crossing the distance to the Grey Wardens. She drew her blades and ran down to meet them, ducking to avoid a slash before swinging upwards, splitting a hurlock's neck open. Then she threw her dagger, impaling it in the face of the genlock behind it. Her hound ran up past her, tackling the next one coming at her and clamping down on its jugular. Alistair blocked a blade with his shield and thrust his sword under it, running the creature through. With a cry of her own, Leliana joined in, slashing at a hurlock while a few steps to the side Morrigan set two others aflame. 

One last darkspawn attempted to flee, running towards the woods as Alistair tried to chase after it. “Hey!”

But it didn't make it far. 

Sten grabbed it and slammed it on the ground like a rag doll, before stomping on its head, easily crushing the skull. 

“Geez…” the Warden mumbled, watching as the qunari simply stood there, unfazed by the blood and gore now clinging to his leg.

Seeing the creatures defeated, the now relieved dwarves stepped towards them, still slightly shaken from their close encounter. “Mighty timely arrival, friends! I am much obliged!” said one of them, a smile on his face. He was a middle-aged man, with a long, braided red beard and wearing a tan wool tunic and slacks.

“You are welcome. Are the two of you all right?” Everil asked, sheathing her blades.

“Yes, all is well,” he replied with a nod. “The name's Bodhan and this is my son Sandal.” He gestured to the young lad beside him.

He smiled widely at them. “Hello!”

She offered them a smile of her own. “I'm Everil. A pleasure to meet you.” 

He brushed his beard, tilting his head curiously. “Might I ask which way you're headed? Perhaps we're going the same way.”

A light chuckle escaped her. “After what just happened, I doubt you will want to travel with Grey Wardens…”

“Grey Wardens, you say? Well, it all makes sense now…” He let out a hearty laugh. “Yes. It is true your travels may have a bit more excitement that me and my boy can handle. But you saved our lives, so perhaps we can offer you something in return before you continue on your way? I can give you a discount on my wares if you wish to trade.”

“Hmm…” she looked over their cart, seeing pieces of armor and other things scattered about. Then turned to her companions, inspecting their state. Sten needed some gear on him and a sword. He couldn't just keep using his hands, and he was basically exposed in that linen tunic of his. Plus, they required additional camp gear to accommodate the new bodies in their group. 

Her decision made, she reverted her attention to the dwarf. “All right. We do need a few things if you don't mind.”

He grinned. “Not at all! Come on over, I'll show you what we've got. Excuse the mess…”

She followed him closer to the wagon, while her companions spoke amongst themselves.

“We are a ways from Lothering. What were darkspawn doing all the way out here?” Leliana asked as she approached Alistair.

“Darkspawn control the deep roads—ancient underground highways used by dwarves in the old days,” he replied quietly, glancing at the nun. “Which means they can pop out anywhere in Ferelden, especially during a Blight. Which is part of the reason why Grey Wardens are needed. To keep watch at all times.”

“Oh... I see.”

He smiled wryly at her. “Still glad you joined?” 

“Of course I am.” She gave a firm nod. “The more I know about all this, the more I want to help. Besides, I would have probably died in Lothering anyway. Might as well die fighting with you if it comes to it.”

A humorless laugh escaped him. “That's the spirit…”

It wasn't long before the group resumed their journey, the dwarves waving their goodbyes at them as they continued their trek along the highway. Sten now sported a chainmail armor set, the only thing the merchant had that fit him. A great sword was strapped to his back, one he hesitantly picked himself without a word. Leliana also carried a bow now, claiming she was as good a marksman as she was with her daggers. They left with one more tent as well, the qunari having refused one over them being too small for his size.

After walking for two more days, they were nearing Redcliffe, but the night was falling upon them just hours before they could reach it. Traveling in the dark was already dangerous, so Everil deemed it necessary for them to stop and finish the trip in the morning. They set up their camp in a small clearing after scouting the area and each of them went off to do their own tasks. Leliana was freshening up by a nearby stream, while Sten, Everil, and her hound set out to bring food, leaving only two party members to watch over their gear.

Tossing some sticks to the ground, Alistair knelt next to a pile of more dry twigs and branches, gathering them together to make their campfire. Meanwhile, his mind wandered, the tension settling over his shoulders. Soon they would be in Redcliffe, and Everil would find out more about his past than he would have wanted to share. A frustrated breath left him and he inwardly chastised himself for not having told her everything before. For having been too afraid to reveal his secret even after learning of her trust in him and of their friendship. He enjoyed how comfortable and open she seemed around him, despite the brevity of their time together. And he did not want any of it to change or for her to distance herself from him.

He was absently reaching for the flint in his pack when a flame erupted over the wood. The unexpected burst knocked him onto his rear with a yelp, nearly burning off his eyebrows. And he glowered at the flames, knowing exactly where they came from.

Morrigan laughed from where she stood mere steps away, fingers still ablaze. “Just what sort of Templar are you? I could have burned you alive if I so wished.”

He shot her a heated glare and picked himself up from the ground. “Very funny. Don’t you have anything better to do? Like… eat children or terrorize some random Chasind village?”

“Does your Chantry teach nothing but tales? Though I suppose ‘tis not surprising, considering the intellectual capacity of their Templars—or lack thereof.” She folded her arms, smirking while watching him kneel once more to tend to the fire.

“Because living in the middle of the woods as an animal makes you  _ so  _ much smarter than me… I don’t think so.” 

“One’s birthplace has little influence on one’s ability to learn. With the right tools, anyone can turn a savage into a man. On the other hand, if one is raised among glorified ignorance, then that would lead to... you.”

Alistair silently continued working despite his growing irritation, trying in vain to ignore her insults.

“Hmm…” she hummed. “I wonder... Why were you and the other Warden sent to the tower while the rest of the Grey Wardens fought in the front lines? What was the reason your Duncan kept you out of the battle?” Morrigan tapped her chin with a finger, smirking wickedly while tilting her head. “Was it perhaps to protect you from your own stupidity? Or was there something more? Hmph… Regardless, ‘tis a shame he could not rely on you to save him...”

That made him bolt to his feet and he closed the distance, his face mere inches from hers. “Do me a favor, Morrigan…” he hissed angrily. “Go crawl under a bush somewhere and die.”

“Ooh, I must have struck a nerve...” Purple lips formed a sly smile, amusement etched upon her cat-like eyes. “You have been casting anxious stares upon the back of your fellow Warden since we began our travels to your home village. ‘Tis made me curious. Are you perhaps hiding something from her?”

His eyes narrowed at her. “That's none of your business...”

“So you _have_ been hiding something from her…” Morrigan chuckled with mirth. “What is it, hm? I promise not to tell…”

“I wouldn’t trust you if you were the last—”

“Oh, just kiss already!”

They both turned their eyes to the woman in question and Alistair’s face drained of color. She was standing a distance away, an amused smile on her face. Her hound and Sten were behind her, an already gutted boar limply hanging over the qunari’s broad shoulders.

"Ugh…" Morrigan’s nose curled at her suggestion. “The very thought of that makes my stomach turn.”

A chuckle escaped Everil as she approached them. “Why are you two fighting now?”

“'Tis nothing of relevance… To me at least.” The witch smiled at the awkward look on Alistair’s face. “But I’m sure Alistair can tell you more. We all know ‘tis not good to keep secrets amongst friends.”

He shot her a glare. “Will you shut up?”

Smirking, she shrugged him off and turned to leave.

Sten unceremoniously dropped the boar on the ground, saying nothing to add to their conversation, while Everil looked up with a grateful grin. “Thank you for your help today.”

He ignored it, walking away towards the far edge of the camp. He and Morrigan seemed to share the same antipathy towards others, always off on their own and avoiding them as much as they could. She was still curious as to why the qunari had been caged back in Lothering, but all attempts made at communication were met with either one-sentence responses or just straight silence. However, her next attempts would have to wait, for right now she was starving. Thus she pulled a small carving knife from her belt and took a knee next to the boar, intent on shaving the fur from its hard skin so they could throw it into the fire. 

Alistair took a seat by the flames and propped up his arm on a knee as he gazed towards her. He watched her work for a moment, anxiously waiting for her to say something about his argument with Morrigan, but no questions came. He frowned and tentatively spoke. “You’re not going to ask about... About what Morrigan was talking about?”

“I don't think I have to…” she answered quietly, eyes focused on what was to be their meal. “I’m sure you have your reasons to keep whatever secret you hold from me. And if I must know of it, then you will reveal it to me when you are ready.”

“Thanks…” he muttered, casting a penitent stare upon the ground.

A brief silence soon fell over them, interrupted only by the pops and crackles of the coals. He leaned over to poke at the burning chips, adjusting them before tossing in a new piece of wood to keep the flames going. With a yawn, Bjorn rose from his spot by his mistress and took a few steps to sit beside him. 

Alistair arched a brow at him. “So you like me now… Or are you just here because your boss is busy?” The dog whined and nuzzled his cheek, drawing a light laugh from the Warden before he gently patted his large head.

“He likes you. If he didn’t, he would have definitely let you know by now.”

“Really?” he chuckled. “I thought he hated me... Considering all the times he ignored me or scoffed at me.”

“It just takes him some time to warm up to others.” She sent the hound a loving grin. “Right, boy?”

Bjorn barked once in response.

“Well, I’m glad. Because I love big, adorable, puppies like you,” he cooed, scratching behind the hound’s ear as it panted happily.

Everil watched them for a moment, laughing a little as Bjorn leaned more heavily against him. The dog’s weight nearly caused him to fall over as he released, making him chortle again. Then it slid down to the ground, resting its head on the Warden’s leg as he continued to pet it. 

“Hey, Alistair…”

“Yes?” His attention shifted from the canine to her, the haunted look he held previously now gone.

She inquisitively knitted her brow. “What happens when you become a Grey Warden?”

“You drink some blood, you choke on it, and then pass out,” he answered casually, sending her a playful smirk. “You haven’t forgotten that already, have you?”

Everil smiled sarcastically. “Ha ha… Very funny.” 

Chuckling lightly, Alistair pushed himself to his feet and moved to kneel beside her, pulling out his own knife to help with their grub. “All right, let’s see…” He released a breath, preparing to speak of a subject most Grey Wardens found very uncomfortable. “Aside from the wonderful nightmares we have each night and the ability to ‘listen’ to the darkspawn. You will notice an increase in appetite. The taint will demand more from your body, which means you will be eating more.”

“Seriously?” She blinked in surprise. “I haven't noticed anything like that...”

He grinned at her. “Are you sure? Because I saw the way you scarfed down the stew Morrigan made yesterday and it had me thinking 'Ooh, it's a good thing she gets a lot of exercise.'”

Everil shrugged a shoulder. “What can I say? I'm a growing girl." 

“I'll say…”

“Hey...” she glared jokingly at him, raising a fist.

“Ah, don't hit me! I bruise easily!" he jested, shielding his arm with one hand.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, returning to cleaning the animal. “As if you are any better. That hare we had a while ago didn’t need to die twice, you know.”

“Hah! You should have seen the time I raided the larder in the Grey Warden base we have in Denerim. Duncan found me covered in gravy like a pig. He was laughing so hard he said he almost d—uhm…” He caught himself, swallowing uncomfortably.

Her features softened upon seeing the grief in his eyes. “Duncan was a good man…”

“Yes… Yes, he was…” Alistair sighed mournfully, and after collecting himself, he continued. “There's... something worse about being a Grey Warden that we don't tell anyone before they join.” 

“Worse than the possibility of me getting fat?” She attempted to lighten up his mood, but this time he didn't laugh. Instead, he appeared guilty.

“The taint... It’s a death sentence…” He turned away, avoiding her stare. “You have thirty years left to live... Tops.”

An awkward silence followed as Everil bit her lip and shifted her stunned gaze to her hands. None of the things she was hearing were in any books or lessons from their scholar, and she could see why. The sacrifices Grey Wardens made to be who they were would not necessarily draw in enough people to replenish their ranks without deception or secrecy. “Ah…Well… I guess that means I don't have to worry about getting old and wrinkly.”

He frowned sympathetically. “I'm sorry...” 

“It's all right… I can understand why they don’t speak of such things.”

“It’s not easy to talk about, no,” Alistair spoke quietly, his stare falling back to their work. “We… call it The Calling. Our nightmares they... get worse, until they become unbearable. That's how we know our time has come. When that happens, most head down to the deep roads for one last battle against the darkspawn. I guess it's sort of a tradition now.” He glanced at her with a sullen expression. “Duncan said his nightmares were getting worse. That he'd be leaving for the deep roads soon. It's... a shame he didn't get to die the way he wanted. He deserved better. They all did.”

“They will be remembered...” she assured him. The way they died was certainly unfair when it came to warriors like them. They were trying to save the world from evil, yet were thwarted by one man. Loghain had not seemed the type to respect or trust them either, so the bastard probably felt no remorse over their deaths. In his book, they were probably just another casualty of war.

“Yeah…” He drew in a breath. “You know... I don’t think Duncan had any family to speak of. All I know is that he was born and raised in Highever.”

She brushed off more fur and ran the knife further along the animal’s neck.“I suppose that explains why my father knew him so well. Still, while I personally wasn’t privy to who he was, I do know he actually did have a family.”

His head craned in her direction. “Really? Who?”

Everil gazed back at him, a gentle grin playing on her lips. “He had you.” 

“Oh… Yes. I suppose that’s true...” Alistair smiled sadly, the words ringing true in his ears. While he and Duncan only knew each other for six months, he was the only good thing to ever happen to him in years. He’d given him hope when he had none for so long. Taught him everything he knew about the Grey Wardens and their ways. Even as a person, there was no one else in the world he respected more than him. “Maybe once this is over... I'll go up to Highever and give him a proper service.” 

The idea drew her eyes to him and she reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind one ear. It would be something worth looking forward to, even if it was to say their goodbyes to those they lost. “Then perhaps I will go with you… For both Duncan and my family.”

His smile broadened. “I would like that... I think he would too.”

“All right.” Everil gave him a firm nod. “It’s a promise...”

“Yes… A promise,” he replied, his amber gaze softening. 

She proceeded to prepare the herbs they’d gathered for seasoning, crushing them between delicate hands before smearing them over the meat. So focused was she on her task that Everil didn’t notice his gentle stare lingering over her. Alistair found himself quietly observing her profile, realizing that not only was she beautiful on the outside, but she had a heart of gold on the inside. If anyone else had gone through what she did, they would have hid in their shell and focused only on their problems. Not her, however. In spite of all the bloodshed and death they witnessed, she still smiled and cared about others around her. Even clearly cared about him. 

Anxiety again gripped him when his mind wandered back to where they were headed. He couldn’t keep her in the dark any longer. She deserved to know.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

It was past noon by the time a castle emerged on the horizon, its towers rising over the woods ahead. The group had stopped in a wide clearing, atop a hill descending to another patch of trees. Redcliffe’s location placed it close to the Bannorn, the central region of Ferelden and where most of its lands were distributed into smaller villages and towns ruled by the bans. More goods were produced in those parts, which meant they held a tight trade relationship with the arling. This allowed for the flow of food, minerals, cattle, and other things, in and out of the southern settlements across the Hinterlands. In exchange, more variety of items were sent up to the country’s central lands and further to the north. And yet, in spite of the town once being heavily frequented, the road was devoid of all merchants and travelers.

“All right, we don’t know what the situation in Redcliffe is and I don’t want to stir any trouble. A larger group led by two Grey Wardens may just do that. So, for now, I will only be taking two others with me. The rest of you will set up camp here until we return.” Everil turned her eyes to Leliana and her dog. “Bjorn and Leliana will come with us. My hound can serve as additional muscle while Leliana… You, uh… Uhm... You just seem the most normal out of our group.”

“The lunatic nun is the most ‘normal’? My, but thank you for the uplifting words,” Morrigan muttered moodily.

“Hey…” Leliana sent her a hurt look, which she ignored.

“Redcliffe has a large Chantry,” Everil said, resting both hands on her hips while regarding the witch. “Until we are in the clear, I would like to avoid a confrontation with their Templars. And barging in with a mage who is obviously from outside the Circle would only make things more difficult.”

“I suppose your caution is warranted. But sooner or later we will face such problems again and you must trust in my ability to handle them.” She smirked wickedly, folding her arms. “I did not live as an apostate my entire life without learning a thing or two about avoiding or tricking Templars. And the one who taught me has been doing so for much, much longer.”

“That may be true, but we need the arl's support. I would rather not risk it.” Everil turned to her chosen party. “Let's go.”

The four of them walked the rest of the way, leaving Sten and Morrigan behind to make camp. It took them two hours or so to reach the village entrance, which seemed just as quiet as the road leading to it. The gates sat atop a cliff that overlooked the whole village, while also providing a view of the arl’s castle in the distance. It was built over an islet on the great Lake Calenhad, which glistened in the background, expanding as far as their eyes could see. This was the largest body of water in the country, appropriately named after Ferelden’s first king. A high waterfall flowed through their path, its waters dropping into a stream crossing the town below. 

They were nearing the bridge over it when someone armed with a bow ran towards them from the other side. He was a young man, with long brown hair, deep relief etched over his features. “Maker... Finally someone from the outside! Have you come to help us?”

“Help?” Alistair asked worriedly. “Help with what?”

The man's face fell. “You mean… You haven't heard?”

Everil eyed him with a questioningly. “Heard what? Did something happen to the village?” 

“Oh, Maker... What _hasn't_ happened? Come with me. Bann Teagan can explain everything.” 

Alistair's brows shot up with surprise. “Bann Teagan? The arl's brother? He's here?”

He gave him a nod. “Yes. He’s been trying to help us through all this. Follow me.”

They entered through the town gates, which were to the right of another path leading to the castle. Their feet took them down the steep slope until they reached the road below. Drying puddles of crimson red lay over the ground they trekked on, peppering it in places and increasing in numbers the further they went. The party grimaced as the rank stench of blood and death wafted into their noses, mixed with the smell of fish and algae coming from the lake. They walked by the log barricades blocking some of the roads, propped up between the quaint, little huts. Some wooden walls were covered in arrows, while more blood could be seen drying over them in darkening stains. And while the village appeared to be capable of housing hundreds, only a handful of armed townsfolk could be seen walking outside.

They stepped into the town square and spotted some men practicing archery or sparring at its center. Their technique was raw and unrefined, which spoke of the meager level of skill they carried. Everil glanced at them as the group passed them by and neared the Chantry's towering temple, which crowded a corner as its Templars stood guard outside. Their guide opened the heavy doors for them and the sight that awaited them inside made her heart twist. 

Women, children, and the elderly—all innocents who appeared to be what remained of Redcliffe’s population—were huddled together, shaking tearfully, and praying to the Maker. Their wails echoed through the long chamber, their despair almost tangible as they tried to comfort one another. The Grey Wardens gazed at their crying faces with sympathy as they walked, seeing their terrified stares looking back at them as they passed. The picture reminded her much of Lothering’s refugees and of their plight before the darkspawn trampled over them, massacring them without mercy. 

_What’s happened here…?_ Everil thought, her chest aching for them.

A red-headed man in steel armor stood before the altar ahead. He was in his early thirties, with a well-trimmed beard over his chin and around full lips. Short hair was combed back while a single, long braid graced a handsome face. Bright green eyes were focused as he relayed instructions to another villager, who nodded with a fist to his chest and ran past them to do his bidding. His attention shifted to them as they came to a stop before him.

Their guide bowed. “My lord, these people just arrived. I thought you’d like to see them.”

“Good work.” He observed the small group, his tired gaze landing on her. “Welcome friends. My name is Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere and brother to the Arl of Redcliffe.”

“A pleasure.” Everil politely dipped her head before gesturing to Alistair. “My friend here and I are Grey Wardens seeking aid from Redcliffe.”

“Grey Wardens?” He scrutinized her thoughtfully. “Hmm... I must say… You look very familiar, my lady.”

“You may have seen me in gatherings amongst the nobility. I’m Teyrn Bryce Cousland’s daughter, Everil Cousland,” she replied firmly, reaching out for a handshake. There was still pride in her tone, despite no longer holding her lands and her family's power.

“Ah, yes... My, but you are more beautiful than I remember.” Teagan delicately took her hand in his, slightly bending at the waist to bring it up to his lips in a chaste kiss. He straightened and held it between both of his, sympathy in his eyes. “I heard about what happened to your family from the other nobles in the Landsmeet. We were not told all the details, only that it was a horrific attack. I am... so sorry for your loss.”

Everil gave him a sad smile. Of course, Howe would not tell anyone what really happened. If he did, they would likely turn on him. “Thank you… I’m sorry about your nephew, as well, Bann Teagan.”

“My thanks… Death has touched many these days...” He gently patted the back of her hand, his kind eyes remaining on her face for a bit too long.

Until Alistair cleared his throat, attempting to get the nobleman’s attention. “Bann Teagan… It’s been a while. Do you remember me?”

Teagan released her while his gaze moved towards him. “Hmm… Should I?” 

“It’s me, Alistair.” He grinned at him. “Although last we spoke I was about ten years younger, and covered in mud.” 

The bann’s face lit up. “Alistair! Andraste’s mercy, you live! Wait… You two are the Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar, aren’t you? When I heard the news I almost could not believe it.”

“Yes, we almost died thanks to Teyrn Loghain.” Alistair almost spat the name. 

“So I have heard…” Teagan’s relieved features turned into a disgusted scowl. “He claims to have called a retreat in order to save his men. That Cailan placed our country at risk in the name of glory. I don’t believe him. His words sound like the ravings of a madman.”

“Well, at least someone is on our side,” Everil told him, crossing her arms. “We came seeking the support of Arl Eamon in order to overthrow Loghain and defeat the Blight.” 

He rubbed the side of his neck, deep concern in his eyes. “Actually… that’s one of our problems. Eamon fell ill days before my nephew’s death. We don’t even know if he still lives because we haven't heard from the castle since… all of this started to happen.” His pleading gaze focused on the younger man before him. “Alistair, I know you and your friends have a Blight to battle, but you must help us. Something evil has taken over the castle and attacks the village during the night. Each night more innocents fall prey to it. If we don’t stop them tonight, I fear we will lose everyone in Redcliffe.”

But Alistair was still trying to register the news. Arl Eamon… Someone he once looked up to as a father, was possibly dead or dying. He thought losing Duncan already caused him enough grief, but now there was a possibility he would lose yet another man he respected. He turned to Everil as she waited patiently for his answer, but his own doubt kept him from giving it. “I… I would in a heartbeat, but it’s not all up to me.”

His hesitation drew a puzzled look from her before she turned to the bann. “Of course we'll help. What is this evil you speak of?”

Teagan released a breath, shaking his head. “Walking corpses... They crowd the village and attack anything that moves in great numbers. They have a taste for human flesh, as well… They will eat you on the spot or drag you away back to the castle, never to be seen again.”

Everil listened to him, going over his words in her head. There were many legends around the undead. Some were said to rise from their graves in ancient battlefields, where the veil to the Fade was too weak to keep evil spirits and demons from crossing over into their world. They would possess the corpses, seeking to exact their revenge or prey upon the living. Others were said to be summoned by powerful mages dabbling in the dark arts, to be used as tools for their own means. If such things were coming from the castle there had to be someone or something inside causing it. The arl could yet be alive and was possibly trapped within, so they had to move quickly to save him. Still, going through the front door would be a terrible idea. They would have to find another way in after helping the townsfolk.

That meant risking their lives against a force they knew very little about. Had she known such a horrible curse had befallen these people before coming here, she would have brought the qunari and her mage. Morrigan seemed well versed in old magic, so her expertise would have proven invaluable to them. While Sten, with his brute strength and heavy build, could have helped in the fight against larger numbers. But it was no use now. They wouldn’t be able to make it to camp and back in time before nightfall. She would have to make do with what they had and hope it would be enough. 

“Aside from the villagers, who else will be fighting with us?” she asked.

“We have a few Templars left, as well as a handful of Eamon’s knights. We also have some help from a local dwarf by the name of Dwyn. He has some hired muscle with him.”

“All right. It sounds like there will be a few skilled warriors alongside the less skilled ones. Still… It sounds like we will be outnumbered regardless. Do you have a plan in place for tonight?”

“We began plotting a strategy, yes… But your arrival changes things for the better.” He gestured for them to follow and walked past them. “Come. I will call forth a meeting and we’ll discuss the details there.”

Everil nodded, going after him along with her party. They crossed the nave once more, heading back to the door as the sobs and whimpers of the people around them seemed to follow them. Her eyes narrowed with unwavering determination as she listened to their plight. This time she would not flee to survive. They would fight and they would save whatever was left of this village. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Burning candles lit up their makeshift war room, set upon multiple tables around the inn's dingy tavern. It appeared to have been lively once, with barrels of ale spread along a wall and a lute sitting in a corner, collecting dust. There was no innkeeper to man the place or bar maidens to serve them food. But it mattered little now, for no one inside sought to get merry. What remained of their mismatched forces gathered around a wide table, looking over a map of the village that already had a few markers on it. They all held grim expressions on their faces, clearly worn out from all the fighting and worried over the next battle.

“All right, it seems we have some Grey Wardens helping us tonight. Though the Maker certainly has a sense of humor. I didn't expect a woman would be among them.” Murdock, the mayor of Redcliffe was a gruff, blunt, and very much uncouth man, which was sometimes typical in Ferelden. He had a bushy mustache and beard, as well as long brown hair, all framing a rugged face. Meaty arms were crossed as he regarded her, dark eyes turned to slits and thin lips forming a scowl. Iron scale armor covered his body, coated in the dirt and grime from having fought and survived the waves of monsters haunting them each night.

“I don't think darkspawn care about who kills them, ser.” But Everil was not impressed, especially not by the way he was looking down on her. She proudly lifted her head, standing regally with her companions at the other side of the room. 

“Hrmph… That may be so, but it don't take away from the fact that your order seems to have lowered their standards.”

Leliana leaned towards Alistair, hiding her mouth behind one hand. “How awful… I thought Ferelden was open to women fighting.” 

“Oh, they can fight. Just some idiots think men should be the only ones calling the shots,” he whispered back in annoyance. “He should be grateful. Any other Grey Wardens would have probably ignored the village and left Redcliffe to its fate. The Blight always comes first.”

“I’m not here for your approval, Mayor. I’m here to help you save your people,” she retorted, an edge in her otherwise calm voice. “Now stop wasting our time and tell us what plan you have to ensure what's left of them don't end up dead.”

“Come now, Murdock…” Teagan uttered from his spot beside him.

“Fine…” He sent him a sideward glance, letting out a quiet huff before leaning over the table, running a finger over the map. “The creatures come from the castle’s main entrance, through the bridge, and down this path. The knights can set up a frontal defense at the village gates, while the rest of us gather here to shield the non-combatants. We will hold our ground there until the night is over.”

“Such a plan won’t work,” Everil spoke up, shaking her head. 

Murdock looked up as everyone cast their eyes on her. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve got a better idea. This worked the last two times we stood against them.”

“But you lost a lot of people in the process.” She walked up to their side of the table, leaning over the map. “You say they come in great numbers… We need to find a way to funnel them in order to take out as many as possible while also avoiding getting surrounded.”

Bann Teagan watched closely as Murdock folded his arms, giving the woman a critical eye as he gruffly spoke. “All right… Show me what you’ve got.”

The Warden nodded and leaned over, pointing with a finger. “We have barricades here already. But they are too close to the Chantry, where the non-combatants will be taking refuge. We want to distance the fight and keep stragglers from going in so as to not corner ourselves against a wall. So let us start at the village entrance.”

She picked up the wooden marker before moving it up. “We place barricades here to block off as much room as possible and only leave an opening through which we can strike as they come in. The Templars, the arl’s knights, and my group can be posted there since we will be able to deliver the most damage.” Everil marked the top of the windmill that stood by the road leading to the castle, then at the cliffside across from it. “Posting archers on higher ground here, and here will provide additional support from a higher viewpoint.” She looked around the room, eyes scanning the rugged men surrounding her. “Still… there will be some we will be unable to take down, and I would say to be prepared for any unpredictability. I would post archers at the highest buildings, overseeing the whole of the village further down. They not only will act as lookouts but will be able to assist against any stragglers coming down the cliffside.”

Murdock reached up to his mustache, twisting it thoughtfully between his calloused fingers. The knights nodded their heads amongst each other. While Alistair could only stare at her in quiet admiration as she easily took control of the war room. Leliana's expression almost mirrored his, only to turn into a wide, proud smile. “She’s good…”

“What else do you have, my lady?” Bann Teagan asked with interest, clearly impressed himself.

“The rest of the combatants can act as the second line of defense, but I suggest we barricade every possible route those things can use to flank us. Here, here, and here.” She placed her finger on openings between huts and on the path leading to the village. “We use the same funneling tactic, but I would layer the barricades and build as many obstacles between them and the Chantry as possible. If we can hold our positions through the night, we should have minimal casualties.”

“That… That sounds like a great idea,” said Ser Perth, a red-headed knight with long hair and stubble, brown eyes hopeful.

“I agree,” declared Ser Donall, another knight, who was thoughtfully rubbing the dark five o clock shadow over his jaw. He was seemingly older and more experienced than the others, with short, black hair, combed back. “My men and I stand by this new strategy.”

“Yes. I say we do it,” Teagan chimed in firmly. 

“Hmph...” Murdock slowly nodded. “It seems we have a plan, everyone. Now, we only have a couple of hours before nightfall. So let's prepare and hope for time to rest. Because tonight, we'll be fighting until the break of dawn.”

“Right. Let's get to it,” said one of the villagers as the men slowly dispersed, heading out of the inn to perform their tasks.

Ser Donall was on his way out as well when he addressed Alistair. “Good to see you again, boy. I'll bet this wasn't what you were expecting when you came back home.”

“No. It definitely wasn't,” he chortled wryly. “But it's still good to see you too, Ser Donall. I look forward to fighting alongside you tonight.”

The veteran knight gave him a nod, patting his arm before continuing his steps to the door. 

A smiling Teagan approached Everil. “Well done, your Ladyship.”

“The title isn’t necessary... I'm just a Grey Warden now,” she replied quietly as the rest of her party walked up to them.

“I see... Well, I imagine you must be tired from your travels. I suggest you rest for now. The men and I can take care of the preparations.”

She tilted her head. “Are you certain?”

“Of course. You may use the rooms upstairs as you please. We will call upon you when ready.”

“Understood... Thank you.”

“No, no. It is I who is grateful. You've given many of us hope that we will make it through the night.” He bowed to her before heading out to help outside, leaving the group in the deserted tavern.


	13. Battle for Redcliffe Village

⚜

_ T _ _ hey shuffled across the empty _ hallway on the inn’s second floor, passing by vacant bedrooms that beckoned them after the many days of sleeping on the ground. The voices of men working outside drifted in through the open window ahead as the townsfolk prepared for their upcoming battle. At least they had enough hands to ready themselves, for the three of them surely needed a breather. 

“Seems we will have a great deal of excitement tonight,” said Leliana, smiling hopelessly as the group paused and turned to each other. “At least we have an idea of what’s about to happen. Unlike Lothering…”

“Yes…” Everil sighed, then offered her a lopsided smile. “It won't be an easy fight, but if we stick to the plan we should be able to make it through in one piece.”

“I am certainly glad they listened to you…” The nun let out a huff, then gripped the handle of the door beside her. “I will go pray to the Maker now… Maybe he can grant us a little bit of luck.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me…” Alistair muttered, also dreading the fight.

“See you soon…” She smiled a little at the two before walking in. 

Both Grey Wardens then watched her door click shut before Everil let out a long, exhausted breath and shifted her gaze to the next room. “I suppose I could do the same thing…”

“Erm… Before you do…”

Her eyes turned to Alistair as he approached her, a somewhat grim expression on his face. “There’s something I have to tell you… In private. May I?”

A quizzical look crossed her face at his request, but she nodded nonetheless. “Sure... Come on in.”

“Thanks…” He anxiously followed her and the hound into her chosen chamber, his steps slow and hesitant. 

The room was rather small, with a window letting in some of the remaining daylight, which bathed the few pieces of furniture inside. One bed sat against a wall, covered in furs, and with a nightstand sitting next to it. A modest dining table was set up in a corner, a vase of dried flowers and a candle resting on top, while a chair sat beside it. Worn wolf fur served as a carpet for decoration, along with a couple of plain paintings depicting lakeside landscapes.

As if he owned the place, Bjorn trotted past them to the bed and hopped onto it before lazily curling into a ball. He yawned loudly and lowered his head, gazing at the pair as his mistress approached. 

“What’s on your mind?” Everil plopped down at the edge of the mattress, still curiously regarding her companion.

“Uhm… All right, so…” Alistair pulled up the nearby chair to set it in front of her, releasing a breath while taking a seat. “Remember that secret I needed time to tell you?”

“Yes, I remember,” she replied with a slight, puzzled frown.

“Well… I… I just want you to know about it now in case it becomes a problem for you later on. Especially here in Redcliffe. And… Well... after all we’ve been through together… I think you deserve to know anyway.” He leaned over, resting an elbow on his knee while nervously scratching the back of his head. “I already told you I’m a bastard… and that I didn't know who my father was.” He swallowed, his remorseful eyes set on the wooden floor. “I lied about that... The truth is that I do know who he is—or rather, who he was.”

Everil tilted her head, hands clasped over her lap as she patiently waited for him to continue. Her expression held no judgment as she watched him struggle to speak. Whatever it was he was trying to say was clearly not easy for him, so she would let him take his time.

Taking in a deep breath, Alistair paused for a moment and mustered his courage. Then his troubled gaze met hers as the words that weighed him down finally came. “My father... was King Maric.”

Her eyebrows slowly moved up and her jaw went slack. “Huh?”

“My mother was a maid in the royal palace,” he elaborated in almost a whisper, gaze straying down once more. “The king grew infatuated with her and took her to his chambers. When they found out she was with child, she was sent away to Redcliffe Castle. It was here that my mother gave birth to me and where she died shortly after. So Arl Eamon took me in… And well... you already know the rest.”

Still not quite believing her ears, Everil was finding it difficult to utter the right words in response. Of all the things she imagined his secret would be, it had certainly not been this. She actually thought it would be more along the lines of him having accidentally killed someone or done something he regretted. Things a bit more expected, considering the reputation some of the Grey Wardens once held. Which, she realized, actually added a bit of humor to the news. So in spite of the weight of the conversation, she chuckled and allowed a small grin to spread over her lips. “So... You’re not only a bastard, but a royal bastard?”

Alistair blinked a few times, then released a soft, surprised laugh. “Hey, that’s clever! Maybe I should use that line more often.” He shook his head, smiling a little at her sense of humor. “But yes… I am the late King Maric's bastard son. Which also makes Cailan my half-brother, I suppose.”

“Maker… That’s really something,” she uttered as he stared directly at her. And now that she looked at him, really looked at him, she could see the incredible resemblance to both his father and his brother. She had seen the same elegant nose on portraits at the royal palace, along with the same strong, square jaw and fair skin. And she could recall the same kind, warm eyes on Cailan’s face during the times he visited Highever to spar or go on hunting trips with her brother. The three men even shared the same blond hair—although Alistair’s was a shade darker. Everil did not know how she managed to miss all of that before. But it was now obvious to her from where his looks came from.

“Why…?” she voiced quietly, knitting her eyebrows. “Why did they keep it a secret?”

“Because I was an inconvenience… A possible threat to Cailan’s rule. So they kept me hidden as far away from the throne as they possibly could. Which was fine by me, since I have no interest in becoming Ferelden’s king. The very thought of that ever happening terrifies me.” A sigh escaped him as he rose to his feet and he walked towards the open window, lifting an arm to lean against the frame. A brief pause came as Alistair gazed upon Redcliffe Castle in the distance, uncertainty coating his next words. “Arl Eamon would be better suited to rule… If he still lives, that is. Ugh, I hope he still lives. I can barely make decisions for myself, for Maker’s sake, let alone an entire country.”

Everil sympathetically gazed at his back, seeing the tension on his shoulders. She slowly stood and took a few steps towards him, trying to think of what to say to make him feel better. It sounded as if he didn’t have much say in his own life, with others around him pulling at the strings since his birth. From having been rejected by his father, to being cast away and sent to the Chantry against his will. And what made things worse was that it all made sense to her. As a noble herself, she knew many of them favored appearances over all else. They would trample over others to maintain the perfect image before the masses and amongst themselves. Some would even destroy their perceived enemies in the name of power and prestige, something she herself lived through when her family was murdered, and what possibly killed his own brother back in Ostagar.

A troubling thought occurred to her. “Does Loghain know about this?”

“Most likely…” He sent her an apprehensive glance. “He was the king’s best friend, after all.”

“Then we will need to be more careful out there. He could try to kill you in order to secure the throne,” she said worriedly, coming to stand beside him.

“Heh... Maybe. But I’m sure he would be plotting something against us anyway. Which means we both have to be careful.” Alistair lowered his arm, turning to face her. “Anyhow, that’s all I wanted to tell you.”

She grinned teasingly. “Are you sure? There is no other secret somewhere out there I should know about?”

A light chortle left him and he found himself relieved to see she was taking things so well. “Aside from my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That's it. Just the prince thing.”

“You know…” Everil slowly stepped closer, smirking up at him while playfully walking two fingers along the griffon on his chest. “I find there is something very thrilling about royalty...”

“Oh?” His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise and he gazed upon those captivating eyes, her flirtatious action causing his heart to skip a beat. “Did I just find the one damn decent thing about my birthright? I think I did…”

She chuckled lightly before casually resting the same hand on her hip. “So… Why didn’t you tell me before? I thought you trusted me. I almost feel bad you didn’t tell me sooner.”

He winced a little. “Aw, please don’t feel bad. I didn’t tell you because it just... wasn't something I thought was... important. Even in the Grey Wardens, Duncan was the only one who knew.” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, gaze downcast in embarrassment. “And… I guess the main reason I didn't say anything after Ostagar was... Well… Because I didn't want you to treat me differently.”

“Treat you differently...?”

“Anyone who found out about my parentage would always see the bastard prince instead of just Alistair. They would either coddle me or resent me for it. Even Duncan often found ways to keep me out of the fight.” He swallowed anxiously and brought his gaze back to hers. “I… I didn't want you to find out for as long as possible because I didn't want things to change between us. I'm… I’m sorry.”

“Alistair…” she whispered sadly.

He offered her a small, pleading grin. “So… please pretend I’m still just some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.”

She hopelessly shook her head and regarded him with a gentle smile. “You’re not a nobody to me, silly man. I honestly can’t imagine going through any of this without you. So I would say that... The lucky one here is me.”

A warm feeling spread through his chest at her kindness, one Alistair found difficult to describe and which left him temporarily at a loss for words. He had just told her of his deception and of his cowardice. Revealed to her the history behind his dirty, tainted blood. And yet this beautiful woman—a high-born girl who could have otherwise pushed him away—still welcomed him when few ever had. His lips spread into a tender smile and his hand tentatively took hers, surprising her.

Everil looked up at him as he held it, her heart rate slightly quickening as he stared into her eyes.

“I can't believe I didn't tell you sooner…” he murmured while standing mere inches from her. “I feel very unworthy of those words.”

A brief silence befell them as the two young Wardens searched each other’s features, the breeze flowing from the window causing their cloaks to sway gently. Then upon realizing how close they truly were, Alistair slowly turned away from her, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Uhm…” He cleared his throat. “At any rate... We should follow Teagan’s advice and get some rest before tonight.”

“Right... “ She nervously licked her lips and gave him a slight nod. “Yes...”

His hand fell to his side. “I’ll… Uh... See you later?”

“Yes. Later…” Everil waved meekly at him as he walked away.

Her door clicked to a close behind him and she was left alone with her hound in the mostly empty room. At that moment, she released a soft breath and placed a hand over her chest. She had no idea what was happening, but her heart was refusing to stop pounding. The only other person to ever cause such a reaction had been Ser Gilmore, but those times were brief and mostly forgotten by now.

This was different. While Gilmore was a close, childhood friend, she and Alistair were only comrades. Two people who have seen and lived through too much in the short time since they met. Even their flirting was playful in nature, though she could not deny her attraction towards his good looks. How she sometimes imagined him holding her tightly in his strong arms as they sat by the campfire. Or how his lips tempted her to sneak a kiss if only to see him blush. Or how much she enjoyed the sight of him without all the armor, her fingers often itching to touch those rippling muscles.

“Ugh…” She pinched the bridge of her nose, heat rising to her face. “At this rate, this blasted chastity of mine will be the end of me…”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Frigid darkness enveloped the streets of Redcliffe, shrouding them in ominous shadows. The flame of torches flickered with the wind, their light shifting over the worn and fearful faces of those standing protectively before the Chantry’s doors. More men were posted on the cliff above, a short distance from the village gates, which were now largely blocked by wooden barricades. There were no words uttered, all too hesitant to speak as they waited with their feet fidgeting anxiously on the spot. While their attention kept going to the castle, its desolate bridge visible from afar.

The two Grey Wardens were at the front of the line of knights, weapons in hand as they too gazed towards that dreaded place. They fought darkspawn, which were terrifying all on their own. But these were walking corpses. Reanimated remains of fellow men felled by whatever monster lay in waiting within the castle walls. A being perhaps even more dangerous than the soulless creatures they sought to defeat. 

Long moments that felt like hours passed them by until a single, faint moan was heard echoing through the stillness of the night. Slowly, one moan turned into hundreds, growing into a terrifying crescendo and filling their ears with their hungry cries. A thick, ominous fog then rolled into the overpass as if alife, crawling across as the sound of clanking armor joined the otherworldly calls of the dead. It was growing closer, heading for the path leading to them and to the town they were attempting to protect.

“They’re coming…” Dwyn uttered nervously. He was a dwarven warrior, clad in iron scale armor and with a thick brown beard twisted into two large braids. One hand was holding a great axe, his grip on it tight as he slowly backed away. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, drawing his attention to the woman standing beside him.

“Those corpses are nothing but moving piles of flesh and bone. They fall just like any other enemy,” Everil assured him, her sharp stare focused on the approaching threat.

“Right…” His gaze hardened at her words and he turned an obstinate glare toward the gates, both hands gripping his oversized axe. Two large men stood with him, also preparing their weapons and following their boss into the fight.

That same thick fog flowed in from around the corner past the entrance, the shuffling of feet growing louder as whatever lay behind the curtain came nearer. A nauseating stench of putrid meat wafted towards them, assaulting their noses. The hoarse moaning continued, driven by starvation as the creatures called for their meals.

“No matter what happens, stand your ground!” Everil shouted to those around her, raising her sword. “Take out as many as you can and don’t let them reach the Chantry!”

“Aye!” they responded in unison, all of them preparing their weapons.

One walking corpse emerged from the mist, breathing it out through its open mouth and out its nose as if it were smoke. It dragged a sword with it, leaving a long trail over the dirt as it shambled forward. Iron scale armor barely held together over its emaciated body, the emblem of Redcliffe etched upon its chest. Then a powerful cry erupted from it, the shrill sound causing the warriors to flinch as the monster commanded its brethren into a charge. Shuffling turned to stomping as the undead came pouring from behind the white veil, running around the barricades and straight towards the only opening they could find. 

“Halt their advance!” Everil shouted, aiming her blade at them. 

The knights roared as they followed her order, rushing past her to clash against the incoming forces. Through sheer might, Arl Eamon’s men destroyed several of them, swords and axes slicing through decomposing flesh. Torn body parts fell at their feet as the creatures relentlessly kept coming. Meanwhile, Leliana and other archers fired arrows upon them, easily hitting the mass of bodies behind the makeshift walls. 

“Let’s do this!” Everil cried out, running towards the battle.

“Right behind you!” Alistair and Bjorn followed her.

She went in swinging Elethea, cutting off the reaching arms of the first corpse. Then she swung across one’s neck, easily lopping off its head. Not waiting for it to fall, she pushed it back and engaged the next, quickly dispatching it by stabbing it through the face. She pulled the sword out of it just as another grabbed her shoulder, trying to sink its rotten teeth into her. Everil promptly shoved it off and struck at its neck, partially decapitating it. Another took hold of her cloak, only to be tackled by her hound before its throat was viciously torn off.

A knight screamed as he was overwhelmed by several corpses, blood gushing out when one tore off a chunk of flesh from his neck. His friends came to help, quickly forcing the creatures off of him. But it was too late. 

“Keep fighting!” she commanded as they engaged the next wave.

Knights, Wardens, and Dwyn and his men effectively blocked the enemy's advance as bodies began to pile up around them. Slowly, the numbers began to dwindle, with only stragglers coming. Not one managed to make it through them.

“They’re pulling back!” Dwyn shouted before he took out another with his axe.

The sounds of battle soon quieted as no more bodies came. All panting for breath, they waited, eyes still over the fog as it lingered along the path, swirling and shifting menacingly.

“Something’s not right…” Everil uttered uncomfortably, narrowing her gaze as she listened for more shuffling of feet. Instead, she heard more moans coming from the distance. Far away. From the direction of the bridge.

She spun about to the castle and took a few quick steps, stunned at what she saw. The dead were now a waterfall of corpses, dropping over the overpass and into the lake below. “Damn it!” she bit out as their unexpected move abruptly changed the layout of their battlefield.

“Help!” A panicking male sprinted up the cliffside from the village, screaming desperately. “They’re coming from the lake! We can’t hold them back!”

“Knights hold this position! Dwyn, you and your men are coming with me!” Everil was already moving, shouting to the men.

“Right!” the dwarf answered, hastily trailing her. 

Leliana made to climb off her perch when Everil pointed a finger at her, making her freeze on the spot. “You stay put! I want you to shoot anything that comes through those gates!”

“Got it!” She nodded, watching as both Grey Wardens hurried down the path. 

When they arrived at the battle, the enemy was close to overwhelming those trying to protect the Chantry. Several of the villagers were already dead, bleeding onto the ground after their faces and throats were eaten. 

Breathing heavily, Teagan killed another with his blade and looked up as Alistair and Everil rushed in. They swung their weapons, slicing through several foes getting dangerously close to the temple doors. The dwarf and his men stepped in after them, quickly slashing at them while the remaining villagers continued to fight.

“Push them back!” she cried out, charging along with them. 

They clashed against the wall of corpses in a single, mighty wave, forcing the undead back behind the barricades. The archers posted on the buildings surrounding the Chantry fired arrows upon their numbers, while the warriors continued to battle the rest. It was a long, drawn-out fight, but they held on until the sun’s rays began to shine over the horizon. 

Bloodied and with sweat upon his brow, Alistair downed one last enemy and gazed towards the sky. The sun’s rays shot out, bathing the lake and their battlefield with its warm light. They burned through the remaining creatures, setting them ablaze like parchment paper before they started to crumble. A breeze scattered their ashes, spreading them as if it were dust while the Redcliffe armor and their weapons clanked upon hitting the ground.

An eruption of cheers filled the town as the survivors raised their weapons, celebrating their hard-earned victory. Some men hugged each other, screaming and laughing at being able to see another day. It was over. For now.

Dirty and tired, Everil huffed breathlessly as she took in the damage around them. Most were left standing, with only minor scratches. She didn’t know how many actually perished, but considering what their odds were, they could claim this as a win. Her knees buckled, forcing her to take a seat at the temple steps as she released a deep breath of relief and exhaustion. Bjorn walked up to her, covered in blood and gore as he gently licked her hand. The corners of her lips curled up and she gently scratched the hound’s ears.

“Good work.”

Her head craned up to Alistair, who was smiling down at her while sheathing his sword. “I don’t think these people would have made it without you.”

She let out a weak chuckle. “We did this together… All of us. But it’s not over yet, we still have to get rid of whatever is causing it.”

“And that’s something I may be able to help with.”

They both turned their attention to Teagan as he approached them, a grim expression on his face. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Redcliffe Castle appeared deceptively peaceful, its majestic walls dominating the scenery. Not a soul could be seen walking by the open windows while the crimson flags and banners hung motionless in spite of the gentle wind drifting from the lake. One didn’ t have to see inside to know something dangerous was lurking through those halls, waiting for another night to fall before sending more of its monsters to finish what it started. 

The bann led them closer to the edge of the cliff, near an old windmill still spinning. He faced the party of four, speaking quietly. “There is a secret passage that leads to the castle beneath that mill. One only known by me and the rest of my family. You will need my signet ring to unlock it.”

“What?” Everil raised a critical brow. “Why didn't you tell us about this before?”

“I am sorry, but I needed your aid. I feared that if I told you, you wouldn't have stayed to help the village.” A sigh escaped him as he gazed at them guiltily. “Now, we don’t have much time. We should—” His eyes went wide as he stared past the group at something behind them. “Maker’s breath!”

They all spun around to see a woman running past the gates towards them, followed by soldiers wearing similar armor as the undead they had just defeated. She was young and beautiful, lavishly dressed in a purple silk dress. Her blond hair was tied into a neat bun, wisps of her bangs brushing against her pale skin.

“Isolde!” Teagan called in shock. “You’re alive! I thought—”

“Teagan you must help me!” The arlessa threw herself at him, breathlessly reaching for his armor. “Eamon… and Connor… My family is in danger!”

He laid his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her off of him. “W-Wait, Isolde… We didn’t even know there were survivors in the castle. What is happening in there?” 

Isolde shook her head, desperation in her blue orbs. “There's no time to explain... You must come alone with me. Please!”

“Alone?” Everil questioned, folding her arms while scrutinizing the woman. “Don’t, Teagan. This could be a trap.”

She turned an indignant glare towards her. “I beg your pardon? That’s a rather impertinent accusation.”

“Not if it’s true.”

“Who are you?” Isolde looked her over, a scowl forming on her features.

“Lady Isolde…” Alistair took a tentative step from behind his fellow Warden. “You remember me, don’t you? We want to help, but we need more of an explanation.”

The woman’s expression darkened. “Alistair… I thought you were dead. Why have you shown your face now, of all times?”

“He’s here because he wants to save the arl—your husband,” Everil interjected coolly, drawing the woman’s attention. “However, I currently lead this party, which means what I say goes. And I say that if you wish for our assistance in saving your family, then you might want to start changing that rude tone of yours.”

The frantic woman’s shaking fingers tucked a blonde strand of hair behind one ear. “I… I apologize…”

Alistair half-smiled, trying not to let her words affect him. “It’s all right, my lady. Can you please tell us what’s happening?”

Her gaze shifted nervously as she attempted to explain the situation. “A… A mage infiltrated the castle some time ago... He poisoned Eamon and I think he summoned whatever it is that is haunting us and the village.”

“Is Arl Eamon still alive?” Everil voiced everyone’s question.

She nodded, brow creased into a deep frown. “That… thing is keeping him among the living, but he is bedridden and unresponsive. It has also allowed us to live, despite having killed everything else in the castle. I do not know its purpose, but it has now taken an interest in my son, Connor… He is not the same as he used to be.” Isolde swallowed and sighed miserably. “He has seen so much death...”

Everil crossed her arms and pensively brought a hand to her chin. “It could be a demon then… The mage could have summoned it.”

This made the arlessa’s expression turn to panic. “A demon!” She looked at Teagan. “Oh, Maker…Teagan, you must help me, please! I don’t have much time! Please, it could kill my Connor!”

The bann gently grasped her shoulder, trying in vain to calm her. He released a deep breath. “Very well... I will come with you.”

Isolde clasped her hands together, smiling gratefully at him. “Oh, bless you, Teagan! Bless you!”

He nodded. “But first, allow me to talk to the Grey Wardens alone. I will join you shortly.”

“All right, but please don’t be long. I will be by the bridge.” She anxiously headed the way she came, followed closely by her two escorts.

Everil’s sharp eyes remained on her, narrowing with suspicion before taking a step to him. “I still don’t think this is a good idea...”

“What choice do either of us have?” He shook his head with a breath, then determination settled over him. “Besides… I don’t plan on handling this alone. You can use the secret entrance to the castle to go unnoticed. I will distract whatever lies inside until you arrive.”

She closed her hands into fists. If that thing was evil enough to raise the dead, it would surely not think twice before killing him. “No, there has to be another way…” she sternly protested. “You’ll get yourself killed!”

“Then so be it…” He averted his eyes from her, gazing towards his family’s home with unwavering resolve. “Eamon is the one you must save no matter the cost. For the sake of all of Ferelden, my brother  _ must  _ live. Isolde, Connor, and I are expendable.” He returned his firm stare to her while reaching into his collar, producing a ring laced with a thin golden chain. He pulled it over his head and took her hand, placing the piece of jewelry on her palm.

Everil examined it with knitted eyebrows. “Is this the signet ring you mentioned?”

“Yes… Use it to sneak in. But be careful… We don’t know what that creature has in store for us.” His troubled gaze held hers for a moment, then he pulled her into a gentle hug, surprising her.

“Uhm…” She stiffened, unsure of what to do as he rested his chin atop her head. “Bann… Bann Teagan?”

“I apologize...” He reluctantly pulled away, his hands coming to rest over her arms. “I may not live past today, so I might as well go knowing I had such a lovely lady in my arms. If only for just a moment.”

Her chest tightened as she held the ring in a closed fist. Everything he was doing to save Redcliffe made it clear that he was a good man. Someone who was willing to risk his life for his brother’s people when he could have walked away to save himself. She couldn’t let him die. Nor anyone else. The town had already seen enough death.

She regarded him with unyielding confidence. “I will save all of you… I swear it.”

A gentle smile spread over his lips. This girl barely knew him, yet she was making such a promise to him. And somehow, he truly believed her. “The Maker truly blessed me when he sent you to Redcliffe...”

Her eyes followed him as he stepped past her, lingering over his retreating back as he went to the other Warden. He walked closer to him, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Stay safe...”

“You too, Bann Teagan…” Alistair quietly replied, watching the older man as he continued on his way towards the village gates. He disappeared around the corner towards the bridge, possibly heading to his death as he went with the arl’s wife to that cursed place. His heart filled with dread, hands closing tightly. From his childhood memories, he recalled the man used to be almost as an older brother or an uncle to him, having shown him kindness and warmth when others often gave him the cold shoulder. He didn’t deserve to die. Not like this.

“Come. We must move quickly.”

His head snapped in the direction of Everil’s voice, seeing her make for the door to the windmill with purpose in her steps. They would save him. With her leading, they would save him. He drew in a breath, steeling himself before going after her, Bjorn and Leliana doing the same. The four of them entered the building and shut the door. Walking into the den of whatever dark creature awaited them.


	14. The Demon of Redcliffe Castle

⚜

  
  
  
  


**_B_ ** _ lackness clung greedily to the damp _ walls of the underground tunnel. Trickles and drips echoed from all around, joining with the sound of their careful footsteps as their feet splashed over small puddles on their path. Everil led the party through the narrow passage, a torch they found at the entrance held securely in one hand. But the flame could only reach so far and none of them would dare guess what lay past the shadowy parts thanks to whatever currently occupied Redcliffe Castle. It seemed the place was intended as an emergency exit, much like the one they used to escape when Highever Castle fell. Though, it seemed this one was hardly cared for, with nothing to give them any idea how far they had before reaching their destination.

Disembodied moans then drifted through the hallway, the hunger in them sending shivers down their spines.

“Sounds like they’re waiting for us... How nice of them...” Alistair muttered with a sardonic smile, trekking just a few steps behind his fellow Warden.

“Maker… I still can’t believe a demon could be responsible for all this.” Leliana was anxiously looking at the back of their heads as she followed. “It must be powerful if it was capable of causing so much death in such a short time. How can we even stop something like that?”

“I have no idea. But we will figure it out as we go along,” Everil answered, attempting to hide the twinge of fear currently clutching her heart. They didn’t know what they were walking into and she hated being blind.

“No!” A terrified male scream was then heard, sounding relatively close to where they were. The party exchanged quick glances and broke into a run, quickly crossing what remained of the tunnel until they stumbled into a wooden door. Everil burst through, emerging in what appeared to be an underground prison. Torches burned along the way, allowing them to see the cages hanging from the ceiling. Then, further down, they saw the corpses currently attempting to break into one of the cells.

Drawing her weapon, Everil tossed the torch and looked to her hound. “Get them, boy!”

And he charged, darting forward on powerful strides before pouncing on one of their enemies and reaping out its throat. Leliana fired an arrow, taking out another, while Alistair and Everil slashed through the remaining two. They stared down at the bodies, seeing bone sticking through rotten flesh. These were in a more advanced state of decomposition than the ones they fought back in the village, which of course meant that they must have been some of the first to die.

Shaken and shivering, the man from within the cell stepped towards the bars, fearfully taking hold of them with both hands. He was young, perhaps a couple of years older than them. With long black hair, pale skin, and haunted blue eyes. Bruises covered his once fair face, dried blood clinging to a busted lip as dirt and grime stained the rest of his features. “Y-You’re living people! Did Lady Isolde send you?”

Everil put away her weapons, promptly taking notice of his blue robes. They were the same as those worn by the mages in Ostagar, though his were torn in places and covered in soil. “In a way…” She approached him, cautiously looking him over. “Who are you? Are you the mage who caused all this?”

“My name is Jowan... And as you said, I am a mage. But while I know this looks bad, I'm not responsible for the corpses walking the castle.” He held a pleading stare. “Please… you have to believe me.”

She skeptically crossed her arms, recalling the words said to them by the arlessa. “You will have to do better than that to convince me. Now, tell me... Who ordered you to poison the arl? Or are you innocent of that too?”

“No, I…” He visibly gulped, his gaze shamefully dropping to the floor at the accusation. “I was ordered to kill the arl by Teyrn Loghain...”

“What?” Alistair breathed angrily, taking a step towards the cell. “That bastard…! Why did he order you to do that?”

“He… He only said I would be doing it for the good of Ferelden. Nothing more.” Jowan anxiously fiddled with his fingers, trying to avoid their judging glares. “You see, I'm a blood mage running from the Circle. I… I knew it was wrong to dabble in forbidden magic so I wanted to atone for what I did by serving my country. The teyrn said he would help save me from the Templars and that I would be able to walk free after accomplishing my mission.” He released a tired breath. “But he left me here, didn't he? How foolish of me…”

Everil took a moment to run his words through her head. If Eamon were to die, then Loghain would truly remain unchallenged for the throne. Which served as yet more proof that he wanted the crown for himself. But why?

“A blood mage... That's a crime punishable by death,” said Alistair, crossing his arms as he sent the mage a dirty look. “Using blood enhances their magical abilities—many times more than lyrium—to the point where they can even summon and control a demon. I wouldn't be surprised if he's lying about the one that took over the castle.”

Jowan’s frightened eyes shifted to him as he gripped his cell bars once more. “I admit to poisoning the arl, but I didn't summon anything! I swear! If there were anyone I think could possibly do this, it would be Connor. He may have accidentally torn the veil—the fabric between our world and the Fade. That’s probably how the demon got through.”

He scoffed. “How could Connor tear the veil? He’s not a mage.”

The mage sighed miserably and shook his head.

“Wait… He is, isn’t he?” Alistair whispered in astonishment.

Jowan dipped his head, remorse etched upon him. “That’s how I was able to get into the castle. Lady Isolde was looking for an apostate who could mentor her son. Someone who could teach him just enough to hide his magical abilities. She didn’t want anyone to know… not even Arl Eamon.”

“Why not tell the arl?” Everil questioned, knitting her brows.

“Because he would have done the right thing. He would have sent Connor away to the Circle of Magi, which means Connor would be stripped of his title… as well as his freedom.” Jowan looked down at his hands, fingers anxiously interlacing. “Lady Isolde is also a pious woman, so having a mage for a child was humiliating to her. She simply could not allow anyone to know she had birthed a mage.”

Everil searched him for signs of deceit but found none. Instead, she could tell he was afraid and that he regretted what he did. He was also cooperating by answering their questions, and if he were really as much of a threat as Isolde claimed, then he probably would have escaped on his own by now. “All right… I believe you. But I have a feeling that what you did to the arl is somehow connected with all that has happened here. How will you atone for that?”

The mage regarded her, meeting her sharp stare with hope. “I know I did something terrible. Please, if you let me out, I will do anything I can to make things right.”

Alistair shook his head at her, his expression one of disapproval. “No, don’t. This man is still a blood mage and blood mages are incredibly dangerous if left roaming around.” He faced him with an angry scowl. “Not to mention he poisoned the arl. At this point, I don't think he even deserves the air he’s breathing, let alone his freedom.”

Leliana sent the Warden a saddened look. “He admits he made a mistake and wants to help. I believe everyone deserves a second chance.”

“But we would be risking too much. We already have to deal with whatever it is that’s taken over the castle,” Alistair insisted. “Which, by the way, could still be his damn fault.”

Everil turned solemnly to her companions. “As much as I dislike the idea of letting him out of the cell, his help might come in handy. He knows about the magic at work here. We can use that knowledge against it.”

Jowan pressed his forehead to the cell, wincing as he the cold metal touched the cuts on his face. “If you let me out, I will not be able to follow you directly. I am in no condition to fight after the torture Lady Isolde put me through. But I promise to help as much as I can from afar. I can look for survivors too. Even help against that demon somehow.”

She nodded, then regarded her friend with an apologetic gaze. “Alistair… I know you’re angry about the arl, but you’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

He pressed his lips into a tense line and breathed in deeply through the nose before shaking his head. It was obvious he hated the idea, but he still tried to reason with himself. She would not willingly put them in danger if she had a choice, and right now, they needed all the help they could get. “Fine…” he reluctantly agreed, then pinned the mage with a suspicious glare. “But if he gives me even the slightest indication that he’ll turn on us, I’ll run him through myself.”

“I understand...” Everil uttered, acknowledging the edge in his voice. She pulled out the lock picks from her pocket and reached for the cage to pick at the lock. “You heard him. Try not to do anything stupid.”

The mage gave them a grateful, yet weak smile. “I-I won’t... You have my word.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

After the group left Jowan to collect himself, they continued on, following the dimly lit corridors. They went through the eerily silent dungeon until they reached a long set of spiral stairs that brought them up to the next floor. Alistair opened a door, allowing them entrance to what appeared to be the soldiers' quarters while guiding them through the place he once called home. The stench of decay hit them as they made their way through another hallway, passing by rooms filled with empty bunk beds. Their steps resonated in the desolate spaces as they walked over the dark crimson marks covering the stone floor.

“So… empty. I half expected more of those things would be here…” Everil uttered uncomfortably, whispering out of fear of drawing something's attention.

“My guess is most of the servants were in the village when all of this began and that we took out a large portion of corpses when they attacked last night…” said Alistair, his voice just as quiet. “Though, don't take my word for it. With our luck, they're probably waiting in one of the rooms, getting ready to throw us a surprise party.”

Leliana shuddered at the thought. “Don't jinx us!”

He glanced over the shoulder, grinning at her. “What’s that? Is our fearless sister scared now?”

“I used to be a traveling minstrel in Orlais… I sang songs about cursed castles such as these.” She pursed her lips at him. “Let’s just say that living those tales is something else entirely.”

Everil sent her a curious look. “You were a minstrel?”

“Yes... I used to serve a noble lady when I was very young, so I was taught such arts to entertain her.” Leliana clasped her hands behind her back, smiling a little. “Later on, after I left, I began to use my talents to earn some coin. Until I ended up here in Ferelden.”

Alistair arched a brow. “Were you born in Orlais then?”

She shook her head. “No. My mother was Fereldan. She used to be a handmaid to Lady Cecile during the Orlesian occupation. After Orlais was defeated and everyone began to resent the presence of every Orlesian, Lady Cecile took my mother with her back to her home country. After my mother died, I had nowhere else to go. So the lady took me in and let me serve her in exchange for a roof over my head and warm meals. I lived most of my life there, but I always wondered what it would be like to visit my mother’s homeland.”

“I see…” he said with sympathy. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

“Thank you… It has been many years, but I can still remember glimpses of her. Especially when I smell Fereldan wildflowers during spring. They were her favorite.”

“Hmm…” Everil hummed with a smirk. “You know… I heard minstrels and bards in Orlais tend to do much more than simply sing of old legends. Which would explain why you're so good with those daggers and that bow.”

A giggle escaped the former nun, a twinkle in her eye. “Well, I did say I used to travel. One picks up different skills during one’s journeys, no?”

“I suppose so…” She returned her stare to the hallway ahead as they turned a corner, still not completely convinced by the woman’s apparent innocence. People with the talents she spoke of were often used by Orlesian nobles to spy on political rivals and sometimes even eliminate their enemies. The politics in the Empire were very intricate and filled with deceit and intrigue, so much so the locals even called it The Game. The players were often powerful people seeking to gain an edge or the favor of the Empress, all the while using any tool at their disposal to hurt their adversaries, either via tarnishing their reputations or by assassination. She couldn't tell for certain, but if Leliana had indeed been involved in such things, at least she was on their side now. 

Distant barking then reached their ears as they moved in the direction of the kennels, making them halt. Everil furrowed her brows, reaching for her sword before resuming her steps. Slower, more cautious.

“Undead dogs…?” Leliana ventured quietly.

Alistair gave a nervous laugh as he drew his blade. “Now, that would totally be a great addition to my nightmares.”

The sound was louder the closer they were to the source, accompanied by vicious growls and the tearing of flesh from bone. The acrid, coppery stench of blood sharpened as more crimson covered the hallway, their eyes landing on a grisly sight before them. Severed arms were mauled almost to the bone while feet and hands were half-eaten. Unrecognizable chunks of meat left a trail of gore, which they followed on hesitant steps. They held onto their weapons as their narrowed stares focused towards the end of their path, a flickering torch casting shadows against the walls. 

All the growling and barking stopped when they neared the corner and Everil edged out, seeing more carnage. Bodies had been turned into nothing but masses of flesh, the bones glistening under the faint light as red ribbons dangled from them, having been chewed to shreds. And over the corpses, three mabari hounds covered in blood were staring back at her.

“Shit…!” she breathed, backing away.

They attacked, their heavy bodies heading swiftly towards her. One pounced, only to be viciously tackled by Bjorn as he snapped and bit at its neck. The next two came after, darting forth with maws open and crazed eyes. 

“What the…!” Alistair barely had enough time to use his armored arm to block the sharp set of teeth that came at him, the dog desperately trying to chew through. He then slashed at it with his blade, cutting open its face and forcing it off of him. But it only got angrier. It used its weight, ramming him like a bull and easily throwing him to the ground. He clenched his teeth as he held his arm against the hound’s neck, keeping it from biting at his face as it barked and snarled at him. “What in the Maker’s name is wrong with them!”

“Get off him!” Leliana called as she promptly fired an arrow from the back, hitting the hound in the head. It snarled at her, hopped off the Grey Warden and hurried after her, its the injury doing nothing to slow it down. She let out a cry and fired again, just in time to keep it from jumping towards her. It landed with a yelp and began to writhe in agony, the arrow protruding from one eye.

Meanwhile, Everil had grabbed the nearby torch and was keeping the third at bay as her mabari continued to battle the first. The hound yelped when she burned its snapping jaws, but it kept coming. It tried to push through the fire, maws open wide before biting down on the flaming wood. She screamed in fright at the unexpected move, its strength almost pulling her to the floor. Her sword came swinging, slashing at it in an attempt to get it to back off. But the hound held on, tearing the makeshift weapon out of her hand and dropping it before swiftly bolting at her. Her leg came quick, kicking the side of its head and stopping its advance. And then her blade found its side, piercing through its massive torso as it released a pitiful whine. 

Covered in a few bitemarks himself, Bjorn kept fighting the last one, growling in rage as they bit and snapped at each other like two wild beasts. The other hound tried to dominate him, biting on the back of his neck, but it couldn't make him fall. He pulled back, tearing himself away from it before promptly chomping onto the side of its throat and using his front legs to knock it down, pinning it to the floor with his superior might. And then he clamped down, tearing through fur and muscle as the hound beneath him yelped. He kept at it, biting and violently shaking its life out of it. Until his enemy was no longer moving. 

“Bjorn!” Everil ran up to him with concern, reaching for him upon seeing the bite marks over him. “Are you all right, boy?”

He barked, panting happily at her as if the injuries meant nothing.

A sigh escaped her as she inspected him, gently running her hands over his fur. Thankfully most of the red was not his and he only carried a few scratches. “Good work, boy....” She glanced at the dead hounds. “They weren't undead… Why did they attack like that?”

Alistair sheathed his sword, gazing sadly at the dogs. “They say animals are sensitive to demonic influence... Maybe the presence here drove them mad.” 

“Poor puppies…” Leliana muttered.

Everil shook her head and rose to her feet. “Come on… We should keep moving.”

Eventually, they reached more stairs at the end of the hall and climbed, heading to the service wing and into the soldiers' dining area. The next level appeared just as deserted. They encountered more empty rooms and bloodied floors, but there were no bodies in sight. Torches illuminated the simple decor in the narrow passage. Portraits were hung along the walls, some displaying quiet Fereldan landscapes while small tables stood under them, with vases holding flowers left to dry.

“Does this place bring you any memories, Alistair? I mean… in spite of the blood and… everything else.” Everil asked as they passed by the soldiers’ dining hall, the source of light now the windows that lay open by the rows of tables.

“A few… I used to come down here during the times when the arl was too busy for my lectures. I would get bored easily on my own, so the servants were sort of my only friends.”

“That sounds rather sad,” Leliana uttered quietly from beside him.

“Nah. It wasn't too bad. Some of the maids used to sneak me treats or make toys for me to play with.” He chuckled a little. “I remember one of them used to carve tiny wooden soldiers for me. All I had to do was ask and she would return from the village with a few new ones every time.”

Everil gave him a sad look. “It's a shame you have to see the castle like this…”

He sighed. “Yeah… I just hope most of them made it out. Though by what we’ve seen, it seems the arl’s soldiers were the ones who got hit the worst.”

A distant clatter caused the three of them to stop in their tracks and hold their breaths as they tried to listen. 

“I think that came from the kitchen…” Alistair whispered, reaching for his blade. “Heh… Which also happens to be the same way we're headed. What are the odds?”

“You just had to jinx us…” Leliana muttered, pulling her daggers.

He led them further down, walking carefully until they stopped at another door. Shuffling could be heard coming from the other side, followed by groans and the screech of blades dragging over the floor. Alistair nodded to his companions and reached for the handle, before slowly pushing it open to see into an adjacent room and through a wide archway that led into the kitchen. As expected, more of the undead were crowding it, thankfully far enough from where they stood that they couldn’t yet detect their presence. The creatures were shambling by in a mindless quest for their next meal as their rotting hands barely held on to their weapons. They were clad in armor like the ones they fought the night before, some stumbling over toppled iron kitchenware or spoiling fruit that had been knocked onto the ground.

“I say we charge…” Everil said with a smirk.

“On three?” Leliana smiled.

Alistair nodded. “One… Two… Three!”

They burst through and charged, surprising the creatures that barely had enough time to spin about to face them. The rogue and both Grey Wardens cut them down, easily dispatching them and leaving not one standing. With the area clear of enemies, Alistair led them to the back, heading for another door. “This way.” 

Finally, they reached the castle's first floor, stepping into what appeared to be a storeroom stocked with barrels of wine and food crates—all possibly meant to feed the arl’s men. They made for the gate on the other side, walking through it and finding themselves in the castle’s courtyard. Their boots crunched over the dirt as they observed their surroundings, seeing nothing but stillness. Not even the grass dared move, seemingly frozen in place and only swaying when their hound sniffled it with a soft whine. The air around them was as cold as a winter’s night. As if death were looming over them, whispering in their ears while running icy fingers down their spines. 

Everil's pulse raced, her instincts screaming at her not to continue. To run away from this unknown being whose presence bled into the stone itself. But she reigned in the nerves and kept walking, crossing the distance to the steps leading up to the castle’s main entrance. She and her companions gazed up at the massive doors from below, the sound of a laughing child drifting to their ears from within. It should have been an innocent melody, and yet there was a menacing tune behind it. A dark undertone that caused them to briefly hesitate to climb.

“Connor… Has to be,” Alistair said with unease.

“Maker… ” Leliana whispered, swallowing.

“All right…” Taking a breath, Everil steeled herself and spoke. “Let’s go.”

She led the way up the steps, following the ominous cackle against her better judgment. Slowly, they opened the gates and entered the arl’s great hall, which was lined with a row of columns on each side as torches burned over each one.

A young boy laughed maniacally before the grand fireplace at the far end of the room, surrounded by bloodied, inanimate corpses and lavish Fereldan decor. His ruffled, brown hair gave him a more crazed appearance as his pale face twisted into a wicked grin. A fine brown tunic covered his small body, patched with dark red stains that matched the color of the once fine carper over which he stood.

Bann Teagan was performing tricks, flipping, and dancing before his nephew, who clapped excitedly at the show. While Isolde was hunched over beside her son, guilt-ridden and helplessness while watching her brother in law ridicule himself for his audience. And although the fire burning behind the family was meant to provide warmth to the entire chamber, there was nothing but a chill in the room.

Whatever was controlling the cast of this sinister play was deeply enjoying itself. 

In spite of the hint of fear she felt, Everil calmly walked towards the bann, stopping just steps from him. Alistair, Leliana, and her hound followed her, each of them with nervous stares. “Bann Teagan?” she cautiously called.

He spun to her and laughed hysterically, startling both Wardens and their companion. Then he whirled about and ran, bouncing excitedly before sitting like a dog next to the one he'd been bizarrely entertaining.

Seeing the newcomers, Connor’s laughter sharply stopped before his dark stare fell solely upon Everil. His childish voice carried with it a second, deeper one with each word he spoke. A voice that was not human. “So you're the one who has been meddling in my affairs…”

“Maker…” Alistair breathed in both horror and disbelief. “He's possessed… He really is the one doing all of this.”

“What is it, Mother?” the boy asked, frustratingly rubbing his eyes. “I can't see it clearly.”

Isolde turned to him, shoulders sunken as if she were ready to fall apart. “She is... a woman, Connor. Like me.”

“Hmph…” His gaze narrowed as if attempting to focus on the Grey Warden’s features. Then a smirk split his face as he gestured to her. “She’s nothing like you, Mother. Just look at her! Half your age, and pretty too! I’m surprised you don’t just order her executed in a fit of jealousy!”

“Please, Connor…” Isolde begged miserably. “Please don’t hurt anyone…”

“Quiet!” He snapped, causing the arlessa to back away from him in fear. His irritated stare then returned to the Warden. “That village was mine,  _ woman _ . How dare you take it away from me!”

Everil regarded him with a fearless glare, unfazed by him. “What do you want, demon? How could you do this to a child?”

“I ask the questions around here, woman! Why are you interfering? None of this has anything to do with you!”

“I don’t bloody care,” she replied without hesitation. “What you're doing ends here. I came to stop you!”

“No!” Connor furiously shook his head and stomped the ground. “You can’t stop me! I want you to leave my playground! Leave me to my fun!”

“Fun…?” Everil echoed in almost a whisper, eyes growing wide. “You found it fun?” His words caused anger to quickly rise within her as her fists closed so tightly they shook. How dare it? How dare it speak so carelessly about what it did? It had torn apart so many innocents without mercy. Destroyed entire families by taking away their loved ones. People who only sought to live their lives in peace. While it also killed and used the men who were meant to protect them, unleashing their rotting corpses against them as if they were nothing but pawns in its little game. 

She could still hear the wails of the children and the women in the Chantry. Could still see the fear in the villagers as they stood valiantly to protect the few left alive. Could still see the faces of the creatures that were once faithful soldiers. And this thing… This demon was to blame for all their suffering!

“No...” She drew her blade, steel in her icy blues. “I won’t let you continue to hold Redcliffe hostage. Even if I must kill the child to set them free!”

“Everil?” Alistair called in disbelief, stunned by how easily she pulled her weapon. Next to him, Leliana eyed her with the same scrutiny, shock etched over her features.

“No, please!” Isolde threw herself between her son and the Grey Warden, arms spreading to shield him. “Please, Warden! He does not know what he does! He’s just a boy!”

“Rubbish! You didn’t see the fear and the suffering on their faces! Didn’t hear their agonizing cries for their dead! This creature nearly wiped out your entire village and you didn’t do a damn thing to stop it!” she countered angrily before taking a decisive step towards her. “That thing is no longer your son... Now, move aside!”

Connor cackled, then threw his head back in an insane fit of laughter, drawing everyone's stares back to him. “You would kill a child to get to me? How refreshing!” 

His mirth continued as his arms extended, his eyes glowing red as the evil voice within him began to chant in a foreign tongue, joining with the child's evil laugh. The soldiers around them rose from their death, picking up their weapons and turning towards the party. A ghastly moan escaped their dried out throats, hungry for their flesh as they took a shambling step to them, preparing their weapons. 

The boy laughed again, the demon in him roaring louder as if in a fearsome battle cry. 

Rising from the floor, Teagan drew his sword, the smile from before replaced by pure rage. He charged at Everil, forcing her to block, the hit driving her several steps away from her intended target. He swung at her again, eyes reflecting nothing but madness. 

“Damn it!” She ducked, avoiding a sideways slash, then kicked his feet from under him.

With a grunt, Alistair brought up his shield and blocked a hit from one of the dead soldiers, recognizing them from their brief encounter before the bann was taken into the castle. He easily drove its weapon away and struck, splitting the plating bearing Redcliffe’s coat of arms. His blade thrust forth, stabbing through its chest before kicking it and sending it to the ground. But the body didn’t stay down. It slowly pushed itself up once more, knees shaking before swinging at him again.

Leliana leaned sideways, dodging a clumsy downward slash, only to bury her double daggers into the enemy. She stabbed lit deep, then in a scissor motion, cut its head off its body. Meanwhile, Bjorn growled and jumped behind one of the corpses, biting at its neck as it tried to pry him off. The hound’s chops closed all the way, breaking its spine before it plummeted face down. 

“Wake up, Bann Teagan!” Everil cried out as she deflected another attack. She was trying not to hurt the man currently being controlled by his nephew, but no matter how much she yelled, there was no reaction. Biting her lip, she blocked his sword at an angle, moving as it hit and causing him to lose his balance. A swift kick to the back knocked him headfirst into a decorative piece of armor and out of her way. With a cry, she dashed, boots hitting the ground as she aimed for the demon once more. Lady Isolde fearfully stepped between them, only to be unceremoniously shoved aside by the possessed child. She fell on a heap on the floor and watched in horror as her son taunted the Grey Warden.

“Come!” Connor shouted, the voice inside roaring viciously. A sadistic sneer contorted his face, turning it from innocent to monstrous. “Kill me, woman!” it screeched as black claws erupted from small fingertips with a sickening tear, shooting blood as they stretched like knives. 

Everil cried out and swung her sword, but the child blocked with one of his talons. He wielded the strength of that of a beast inside that feeble body, causing her arms to shake as she tried to overpower him. She gritted her teeth under the strain. “Damn you…!”

“You won’t dare touch me, girl!” The demon’s voice surged through the child’s mouth as it summoned all its strength. An invisible force struck her, sending her flying several feet until her body slammed against one of the pillars in the room, causing her to drop her weapon and crumble to the ground.

Alistair made to help her, but an armored arm wrapped around his neck and kept him in place. He struggled, turning his head just enough to see who it was. “Teagan! Let go of me!” But the bann said nothing, his hold tightening to the point where it was hard for him to breathe. 

Leliana was thrown down by some of the remaining undead as they pinned her with their bodies, keeping her from interfering. The hound was also held by more corpses, snarling and barking madly as he tried to use his strength to push them off.

With a weak groan, Everil slowly pushed herself up to her knees, lungs burning from having had the air forced out of them. She blinked the dizziness away just in time to see the possessed child closing in with inhuman speed. He swiped at her. She moved at the last second, grabbing Elethea while rolling onto her feet. Then she backed away, drawing her dagger as he came after her, striking in a crazed frenzy.

“Die! Die!” the demon in him roared, laughing madly. “Your soul will too be mine!”

The Warden clenched her jaw as she struggled to block every hit, her blades resonating with the sheer force of his attacks.  _ I have to find a weakness... An opening! _

In one brief moment, the boy stopped mid-swing, stumbling on his feet as if the creature's hold on him had slipped. Everil took the chance. She tackled him, knocking him onto his back.

“No!” Isolde screamed.

The Grey Warden knelt over him and swiftly dropped her dagger, letting it clatter to the ground beside them. Both hands gripped the hilt of her blade as she aimed the point to his heart. And then she raised her sword, letting out a vicious cry of her own.

“Everil! Stop!”

Alistair’s voice made her freeze mid-thrust, clearing the haze of rage blocking her vision as her stunned gaze fell over the little boy’s face. Connor was gazing up at her as if she herself was the monster, tears spilling out of him as he sobbed and quivered beneath her. There was no demon in those eyes. Only pure, unadulterated fear. A fear that brought the image of her dying nephew rushing into her mind, stabbing at her heart with both guilt and unbearable grief. In her misery and shame, her arms went weak along with her resolve and she slowly lowered the weapon, arms going limp at her sides.

A wicked look flashed over the child's face. “I knew you couldn't do it…”

Everil’s eyes went wide. “What—!”

He took her dagger and slashed at her unguarded form, spraying crimson over the stone floor.

Horror fell over Alistair's features as he watched helplessly, Teagan keeping him bound a distance behind his fellow Warden. Seeing only her back and the blood on the ground while the rest was kept from his view. 

The demon child effortlessly shoved her off and lifted himself up. He gazed upon Everil's shocked expression as she lay on her knees before him. “Mother… You are now nearly as beautiful as she,” he mocked, still wielding the dripping dagger. Then a wicked sneer distorted his face. “Allow me to correct that... I will execute her for you.”

“Connor, please… Don't do this...” Isolde pleaded tearfully.

But he raised the weapon and swung, ready to end the Warden's life.

Everil reacted, striking at his attack with her sword while springing to her feet. She deflected the dagger away and out of his reach, taking him by surprise. Her hand flew, backhanding him across the face, the force sending him to the ground. His temple bounced off the floor and as his eyes rolled up into his head.

Standing tall, she cooly looked upon him, ignoring the blood streaming freely down the right side of her face and from the bridge of her nose. Her sharp gaze then shifted to the arlessa, who could only stare back in fear. “What are you waiting for? Bind him before he wakes.”

Isolde nodded shakily and rushed to her son’s side, rolling his unconscious form onto his back. Meanwhile, the remaining corpses dropped to the floor in a domino effect, this time dead for good.

“W-What?” Teagan slowly let go of the younger man, bewildered and confused.

‘Everil!” Alistair didn’t stop to explain, rushing to her side as she sheathed her weapons. “Are you—” The words died in his throat when she spun to face him, allowing him to clearly see the deep gash that now lay across her face. It bled profusely, the red dripping from her chin and staining the griffons on her silver breastplate. He swallowed, unable to speak. There was no way that wouldn’t leave a scar.

A relieved Leliana walked up to her, holding a torn piece of cloth in her hand. She brought it up to her injury, kindness in her smile. “Here… You're making a mess.”

Everil licked the blood from her lips as she took it. “Thank you.”

The bann approached them, regarding her mournfully. “I am sorry… I couldn’t—”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, raising a hand to halt him. “You should help Lady Isolde. Connor will not be out for long.”

“Oh… O-Of course...” Teagan’s stammered, unsure of what else to do or say as he awkwardly stepped around them. He approached his family and knelt to help the woman currently cradling her son. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The group later gathered in the boy's room after having bound him to his bed, using a rope to keep his wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts. It was a normal kid’s chamber. Lined wall to wall with shelves in which fairytale books were neatly organized, along with a few toys. The floor was littered with more of them, all handcrafted wooden figures or straw-stuffed animals. At first glance, none would think the child lying asleep was anything but normal. But every single one of them knew better. They had to move quickly.

“What do we do now?” Teagan asked worriedly while standing next to Isolde by Connor’s bed.

“Alistair,” Everil regarded the former Templar beside her, still pressing the bloodied rag to her wound. “We’re dealing with a possessed mage here. Do you have any suggestions?”

He crossed his arms, thinking back on what he was taught. “As far as I know… The only way to defeat an abomination is to kill the mage.” He sighed and sadly shook his head. “But that just takes us back to square one.”

“That’s not the only way...”

Their eyes went to Jowan as he stepped into the room, cautiously approaching them.

Lady Isolde instantly stiffened, pinning him with a hateful look. “What's the meaning of this? You were supposed to be jailed!”

“I let him out,” Everil answered casually, drawing the arlessa's glare.

“Is he the mage you mentioned?” asked Teagan, scrutinizing him.

“Yes... He's the bastard who poisoned my husband and started all of this.”

“Oh, please…” Everil scoffed. “You brought him here to teach Connor in secret, in order to hide the boy was a mage. You wanted to protect your son so badly that you even lied to your own husband. Don’t play the innocent victim here. This is also your fault.”

“W-What...!” Isolde's voice raised a few decibels. “You dare accuse me of what’s happened to my husband? To my son! How dare—”

“Enough!” Teagan cut her off, scowling angrily. “She’s right! You may not have intended for this to happen, but your secrecy made the mage’s actions possible!”

“I…” She shrunk away from him.

A brief pause followed and Jowan raised his hands, attempting to appease them. “Look… what I did was… unforgivable. I know. But I want to make things right. Please let me help.”

The bann folded his arms, turning his attention to him. “Very well… What do you suggest we do about my nephew?”

He fiddled with his fingers, still not all that comfortable under the other man’s stare. “There's a spell used in the Circle of Magi that can send a mage into the Fade—the very place from which the demon is controlling Connor. Once there, that mage could fight the creature directly and kill it, which would, in turn, release the child from its hold.”

Isolde’s expression lightened, all prior anger replaced by hope. “So there’s a way to rid ourselves of the demon without hurting my boy?”

“Yes, but… this is a powerful spell, so we’d need the help of a few other mages and a good amount of lyrium. None of which we have on hand right now.” 

“I have a mage in my party,” Everil offered. “She’s waiting for us outside of Redcliffe and also carries lyrium with her. I could go get her and bring her here to help.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be enough to cast the spell the usual way… We would need more mages, as well as more lyrium than you can possibly carry in your travels.” He reached up to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. “But I’m a… blood mage. Which means I could send your companion into the fade without the extra help. However, a spell like this one would require a lot of blood… All of it, in fact.”

“So someone would have to be sacrificed?” Teagan voiced features paling at the thought.

Jowan fiddled with his fingers, turning away from them. “I know that’s not much of an option...”

“No,” Everil chimed in. “Not an option at all.”

“Well, I volunteer.”

The words drew their stunned stares to the arlessa.

“What? Isolde, are you mad!” Teagan protested. “Eamon would never allow this!”

But she lifted her chin defiantly, showing no fear. “I don’t see what is so hard to understand. Either my son dies so that we may kill that thing inside him, or I give my life so that he may live. To me, the choice is clear.”

Alistair shook his head, sickened by the conversation. “I don’t like this… How could more evil solve the problem? Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“There will be no sacrifices. We find another way,” Everil said firmly, tone leaving no room for argument.

“If that’s the case… Then the Circle of Magi would be the only likely place where we can find both the mages and the lyrium we need,” Alistair said, gazing towards his companion.

This piqued her attention and she turned to him with raised brows. “The Circle is not far, and we need to seek their support regardless. Perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone.”

He felt a little relieved at her suggestion. “That does sound like a great idea.”

“We leave immediately,” Everil asserted, her decision made before regarding the mage. “Jowan, you stay here. If there’s a way to keep Connor asleep until we return, use it.”

He gave her a shaky dip of his head. “I think I know a spell that can do that.”

“Good. We will return as soon as possible.” She made to leave.

“Lady Everil.”

The Warden stopped and craned her head towards Teagan.

He offered her a small smile, a hand coming to rest on her shoulder. “I know it’s not over yet, but you have kept us alive, as you promised. You have my gratitude.”

She nodded mutely, returning the smile before resuming her steps to the door. The four made their way out, walking with purpose to the main entrance. They left the castle through the front gates, crossing the long bridge towards the edge of the village and beyond. Behind them, the demon's presence lingered, holding Redcliffe trapped within its grasp as those inside the castle hoped for their swift return.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Night was already upon them by the time they arrived back at camp. They were near the Imperial Highway, which they could possibly take around Lake Calenhad and towards the Circle of Magi further north. The trip would have to wait until morning, however, for their bodies demanded rest after the constant battles and the hours without food and drink.

After scarfing down several bread rolls and half a bottle of wine, Everil set out to work on drafting the shortest route towards their next destination. But before she could finish the plan, their map was torn from her grasp and she was dragged closer to the campfire by a temperamental witch who insisted on treating her wound. And although Morrigan appeared to mean well, she had no bedside manners to speak of. 

“Ah!” Everil cried, flinching away from her rough hands. “Will you stop torturing me!”

“Stay still and 'twill not hurt. ‘Tis as simple as that.” Morrigan smeared more of the herbal paste she concocted onto her cheek, the muddy smell overwhelming her nostrils.

“Are you certain you're not doing this simply to get back at me for not having brought you along?”

“Hmph!” She pressed her fingers against her injury, drawing yet another yelp out of her. “Perhaps I am, foolish girl. Had you not doubted my abilities, I may have been able to immobilize that demon-child and he would not have mangled your face so.”

“You don’t know that…” Everil muttered stubbornly under her breath, feeling as if Fergus were the one scolding her.

“You are very fortunate to have me here. Otherwise, this cut of yours would have turned into a much more unsightly scar.” Morrigan irritably wiped the paste away with a clean, wet cloth. “To think you were going to simply leave it without even so much as cleaning it. It speaks to how little you think of your own well being when that head of yours is set upon a quest to save others—which may be a trait some may admire. I, however, find ‘tis incredibly stupid and highly irresponsible.”

“Gee… thanks for caring…” Her eyes avoided her as she barraged her for yet another mistake.

Approaching footsteps made the two women gaze up to see Alistair walking to them. There was concern in his stare, mixed in with a bit of guilt as he came to stand beside them.

“Ah, look who's here!” Morrigan mocked him, a cynical smirk over her lips. “Tremendous work with that abomination, Ser Templar.” 

He scowled at her. “Just tell me how she’s doing...”

“Well…” she huffed and stood, holding a bowl and the rag. “‘Tis not infected and it is already healing. By what I heard happened, she was quite lucky.”

Her patient waved them off. “You two are taking this far more seriously than I am. It’s truly nothing.”

“You would not be here speaking so carelessly had that demon cut lower,  _ Warden _ ,” Morrigan rebuked with a disapproving glare. “I may be good at using healing herbs to treat injuries, but I doubt very seriously that my skills would have worked on a slashed neck or a severed head.”

Everil winced a little at her words, resisting the urge to reach for her throat. “All right... then why didn’t it kill me?”

“You said you saw a glimpse of humanity in the boy before it happened. Perhaps some still remained which kept the demon from seeing where it was aiming the blade.” She shook her head at the younger woman, then turned to leave. “Anyhow, now that I am no longer needed, I shall go prepare for tomorrow’s travels.”

Everil gazed at her with a grateful smile. “Thank you for everything, Morrigan.”

“Do try to take better care of yourself next time instead of making my work more difficult,” she replied, sending her a brief glance before walking off to her little camp on the edge of the clearing.

“Still as charming as ever…” With a weary breath, Alistair lowered himself on the ground next to her and propped an arm on his knee. 

Everil tiredly blew up her fangs, feeling foolish. “I didn’t think of how terrible things could have turned out had she not mentioned it.”

“Yeah… It was pretty scary to watch,” he quietly admitted, observing the campfire’s bouncing flames **.** “And I feel like it was partly my fault you got hurt...”

“Huh?” She blinked at him. “Why in the world would you think that?”

“Because I stopped you. Had I let you handle things differently—”

“I would have killed a child,” she interjected, riddled with shame. “I promised the bann that I would save them all… I almost broke that promise.”

“You didn’t though...”

“No, but I came too damn close to it. I don’t know what came over me... I just wanted to help those people. I wanted to save them so badly that I forgot Connor needed saving too.” Everil shook her head, then gave him an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Alistair.”

He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. Don’t beat yourself up over it. We had a rough time in the village hours before, so you were just doing the best you could.”

She released a steady breath, the pressure in her chest gradually ebbing away. “I just hope the new plan works…”

Alistair gave her an encouraging pat. “It will. You’ll see.”

“Thanks…” She half-smiled, the action causing the side of her face to ache. Wincing, she looked away, her gaze falling to the dirt. “You’re handling things well... Considering it was your village that was attacked back there.”

“Probably because it’s been so long since I last saw it that it hardly felt like home anymore. It changed so much, it barely looked like the same village I left behind.” He shrugged, then smiled playfully. “I’ll tell you one thing, though. The smell of fish hasn’t changed. It brought back memories the moment it slapped me in the face.”

“I can imagine,” she laughed, amused by his choice of words. He certainly knew how to lighten the mood, even if it was at his own expense.

A comfortable silence fell over them as the two sat by the warmth of the fire, simply resting while enjoying each other's company. For a moment, it almost felt as if it were just them camping out in the wilderness. Without anyone else to listen to their conversations or watch them as they spoke. It was comforting. A new normal.

After a moment, Everil found herself staring at his profile through the corner of her eyes. Discreetly admiring how the flames reflected over his hazel-browns, creating glistening sparkles that glowed like fresh honey. She observed the way the light played with his manly features, the dark blond stubbles around his mouth and chin more visible against his pale skin. Skin that was slightly covered in dirt, but was otherwise smooth and flawless.

Everil smiled a little as she rested the uninjured cheek on her fist. “Hey, Alistair...”

“Yes?” His head turned to her. 

“Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”

"Uhm…" Heat rose to his face at the question and he mustered a bashful smile. “Once, I think… In Denerim. A while back. But those women were… not like you.” He chuckled lightly, then gave her a flirtatious grin. “Why? Is this your way of saying  _ you  _ think I’m handsome?”

“I don't know…” She sat up and leaned a little towards him, fluttering her lashes. “Maybe?”

“Oh?” He snickered. “I’ll get it out of you yet…”

Everil laughed softly, her cheeks also painted pink. “So… other women have told you?”

“Yes, but they weren’t…” His voice broke and he nervously cleared his throat. Maker, he was terrible at this. “Those women... were not as beautiful as you are.”

She felt her heart skip as her eyebrows went up in surprise. “You think I'm beautiful?”

“Of course you are… And you know it. You're beautiful, resourceful, and all those other things you would probably hurt me for not saying.”

Her smile faded as she turned away, crestfallen. “Oh…”

The sudden change in her mood made his brow knit with worry. “Did… Did I say something wrong?”

“N-No…” Everil shook her head slowly, biting her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. “It’s just...” She breathed out a sigh and touched her face, wincing from the pain. And although she could feel Morrigan’s healing was starting to take, his words drew her thoughts to what would be a mark she would carry for the rest of her life.

“Hey…” 

There was a soft touch under her chin as Alistair used a curled index finger to gently turn her head towards him, prompting her eyes to meet his.

“I didn’t just say you were beautiful…” he murmured, his expression soft and caring. “I meant it.”

“Maybe I was once…” Everil said pitifully, suddenly weakened by his stare. “Before this…”

“No... That scar only shows your willingness to risk your life in order to help others.” His hand came to cup her face as his thumb gently stroked the edge of that deep gash, leaving behind a warm, tingling sensation. “Trust me… You’re still the most beautiful woman I've ever met.”

“Alistair…” His name came as a whisper as those amber pools suddenly held her captive. Butterflies fluttered deep inside her stomach, joining the rapid beat of her heart as it drummed excitedly against her ribcage.

He searched her features, mouth running dry as he found himself mystified by her beautiful eyes. The firelight reflected over them, reminding him of the setting sun over a clear, blue lake. His pulse quickened as his gaze descended to her enticing lips, their rounded softness beckoning him as spring water called to those dying of thirst. And he began to lean in. Slowly. Until their noses were nearly touching, their breaths almost intertwining. Maker, how he craved to drink from this spring. To bask in its warm waters and taste the richness of its depths until his thirst was no more.

Everil's eyes slid shut and she waited. Waited for that tempting mouth of his to claim her own. To feel the warmth of his lips and—

“Food is here!”

The Grey Wardens pulled apart as if they’d been burned, their faces flaring with embarrassment. They looked away from one another, awkwardly avoiding each other’s stares as Leliana's footsteps grew louder. She was returning to camp with a pair of dead hares as their would-be dinner, Bjorn close behind her. 

The hound rushed towards Everil, panting heavily after having helped in the hunt. She scratched the dog's head, sympathizing with him as she struggled to regain the ability to breathe herself. Meanwhile, Alistair was finding a spot in the woods particularly interesting, his face a peculiar shade of red. Both played it off for the rest of the night, doing their best to hide whatever was happening between them from the others. But little did they know that a mildly amused witch had been watching them from afar all along.


	15. Darkness in the Circle Tower

⚜

  
  


**_M_ ** _aker, am I falling for her?_ That would have to be the only explanation behind whatever it was that possessed him to almost kiss her the night before. The reason why he'd craved to taste those rosy lips and his fingers itched to touch that soft skin. Why he yearned to embrace her and hold that lithe body against his own for hours. Those ideas were growing more frequent since Redcliffe and just thinking clearly was becoming increasingly difficult every time she was near. And he couldn't tell why it was happening or what it all meant.

 _No, I can't be falling in love with her. We barely know each other. Maybe… Maybe I just want her?_ Alistair thought while gazing towards Lake Calenhad, its waters glimmering under the afternoon sun. _I mean... with those ravaging curves, that cunning, and that power… What man wouldn't want her?_

A frown creased his brow as his gaze fell to the grass, not really seeing it when his mind was still focused on her. He figured he was just… stressed and in need of a release after all that’s happened to them. But thinking of her in such a way—as some casual fling to pop his cork—just seemed shameful. As if the very notion of him possibly having a one night stand with her was somehow an insult to her honor. He realized then that it wasn't all purely physical. That she meant more to him than that. 

Alistair shook his head, glaring at the ground. If it wasn't love, then what was it? Lust? Need? He groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just trying to sort out these feelings was starting to give him a headache.

“What do you mean you won't take us to the Circle? I demand an explanation.” 

And right now, the source of his inner turmoil was staring down a redheaded Templar who also happened to be wielding a sword as big as she was tall.

“I said I have orders not to let anyone in. Are you deaf?” 

She folded her arms stubbornly, lifting her nose at the man currently towering over her. “We are Grey Wardens and need help from the mages. Now, take us to the tower or I will make sure you regret ever getting in our way.”

“Oh, threats now, huh?” His green eyes matched her glare, refusing to back down. “How do I know you’re Grey Wardens, eh? You think that just because you’re wearing the armor I’ll believe everything you say?” He scoffed at her. “Show me proof and then we’ll talk.”

“Such impertinence. This man should be pushed into the lake and left to drown,” Morrigan grumbled from behind Alistair. The group was standing a distance away, waiting for Everil to broker passage to the Circle of Magi, which was located at the center of the lake.

Alistair lifted a brow. “Isn’t that a little extreme?”

“He is blocking our advance when we have a Blight to stop and a possessed child aiming to slaughter an entire village. I would say one Templar’s life is meaningless in comparison.”

“Are you sure you’re not just saying that because you hate them?”

“Yes. ‘Twould simply be one more reason to drown him.”

Everil huffed moodily, holding her ground. “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

The Templar put his hands on his hips, leaning over to stare her down. “Oh, so now I’m not good enough for you, eh? See how you get across now.”

With a sigh, Alistair walked up to them, having had enough of a conversation that was seemingly going nowhere. He came to stand by his fellow Warden, offering the knight a friendly smile while using his past experience in the Chantry to push things along. “Hey… Tell me something, Ser Templar. What would your Knight-Commander say if he were to find out that you kept Grey Wardens out of the Circle of Magi during a Blight?”

The young man's face paled as his brain slowly processed his words. Seeing this, Everil picked up on her friend’s plan of attack and gave him a wicked grin. “He wouldn't like it very much, would he?” She nudged Alistair's arm with her elbow. “Shall we report it?”

He snickered. “Maybe we should.”

“No, don’t,” the Templar blurted out, shifting nervously while finding himself defeated. “Fine, you win. I will take you across. But I can only take three people at a time. Your hound may fit in the boat too.”

“Good. Hold a moment.” Everil’s face brightened and she spun about, heading back to her party and motioning for them to follow her outside of the Templar’s ear range. 

“All right. You heard him. We can only take one other person with us.” She regarded the witch. “Morrigan. You said you have business inside, so you’re coming along this time. That and I learned my lesson the last time I questioned your abilities.”

Morrigan smiled elegantly. “I am pleased to hear that.”

“What are you hoping to find in there, anyway?”

“If I find it, I shall tell you. Just know that ‘tis a tool we may be able to use to our advantage.”

Everil arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Is it dangerous?”

“Not if in the right hands. And, fortunately for you, mine are quite capable...” Purple lips spread into a smirk, giving her a slightly uncomfortable feeling in spite of her words.

“Very well, then… I’ll have to trust you.” Everil sighed, then shifted her attention to the other two. “Sten and Leliana. You two can wait for us and watch our things while we're gone.”

“All right. We'll be here.” Leliana replied with a not. Next to her, Sten ignored them, observing the lakeside with his usual severe expression.

Soon after, they watched the four of them board the small rowing boat and set out across the lake’s waters, heading for the tower. Leliana sighed, not exactly thrilled at being left behind. Especially with someone as enigmatic and dangerous as Sten. He rarely spoke or socialized with the rest of them, but somehow still kept his word to Everil, having promised to fight against the Blight in exchange for saving his life in Lothering.

“Hmm.”

Upon hearing the grunt, she gazed up at the qunari in question, taking notice of how he kept turning his head in every direction. He took a step towards the lake’s shore, then veered to the side and away from it, his eyes focused and searching over the grassy hills beside it.

She frowned worriedly. “Are you searching for something?”

Sten turned his attention down to the redhead, then kept going. “I am.”

“What is it?” she asked, trying to walk faster to meet his giant strides. “I might be able to help you.” 

“I am searching for my sword.”

Her eyebrows shot up and she blinked. “Uhm... You have a sword on your back, Sten. You didn’t drop it or anything.”

He let out a grunt. “Not this sword, woman. My sword.”

“But isn’t that your sword?” she muttered in puzzlement, totally confused.

“No. This sword is not my sword.”

Leliana reached for her now aching head. “All right… How about you explain to me what you mean? I’m not following.”

He stopped in his tracks and let out an almost imperceptible sigh. “You were a priestess of the Chantry in Lothering, were you not?”

“Yes, I was. Why?”

“Do you not know what occurred that caused me to be imprisoned in your village?”

“Uhm…” She swallowed nervously under his stare. “You… You killed a family with your bare hands? The Revered Mother said the Templars found you by their bodies.”

“That is correct…” Sten turned away from her, but whether or not he was ashamed by his admission, she couldn't tell. It took him a moment to speak, but he continued to explain. “The reason I killed those people was that I lost the blade given to me upon my birth into the Baresaad—the warrior class of the qun in your human tongue.”

“What?” Leliana tilted her head quizzically. “You killed them because you lost your sword? Why?”

“Because without it, I am soulless.” He kept trekking further down the lake, leaving her staring in bewilderment. 

“W-Wait!” She ran after him, intent on following him and figuring out his cryptic words.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The Circle of Magi’'s massive spire rose over them as a giant touching the skies, the clouds circling it grazing the top of its finger. Sunlight caressed the coarse, grey stone, the tower’s reflection shimmering magically over the lake’s shifting surface. None spoke as they gazed upon it, admiring its imposing size while quietly wondering what lay inside. They docked on a grassy area and climbed out before taking a few steps to the iron gates. The Wardens opened them, revealing a great hall with red and white banners hanging over the walls. And the moment they walked in, they were greeted by what appeared to have been the reason why they were initially being denied entrance to this place.

Several Templar knights lay bloodied on the floor at each side of the room as they moaned and wailed miserably. Those who were less injured treated their injuries, offering words of empathy and support that came out empty when they themselves were in pain. A sympathetic Everil and her party passed them by, spotting a man sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth while holding his head. He was muttering something about the many dead and dying while the rest of the men and women around him held expressions of loss, anguish, or fear. 

“What… happened here?” Alistair whispered, stunned by the miserable state of those he may have once called brothers and sisters.

“Grey Wardens.” A man with a graying beard met them halfway into the hall, his armor carrying the symbol of the Templar Order. “Welcome to the Circle of Ferelden... Or what's left of it.”

Everil knitted her eyebrows, a question in her eyes. “Are you the one in charge?”

“Yes. My name is Greagoir and I am the Knight-Commander of the Templars here.” He clasped his hands behind his back, scrutinizing them. “I am sure you were told we are in no condition to receive visitors. Whatever brings you to the Circle must be important enough to ignore this.”

“Yes… We seek the aid of the mages to battle the Blight.” Everil went straight to the point. 

“I tire of the Grey Wardens' constant need for help against the darkspawn, but it is your right.” Greagoir released a frustrated breath, then gave her an apologetic stare. “Unfortunately, we cannot offer any mages at this time. I shall be blunt. The Circle is lost and it has been taken over by abominations.”

Alistair couldn’t believe his ears. “Are you serious? How did this happen?”

The Knight-Commander wearily shook his head. “We don’t know… All we know is that we had demons and abominations killing everything in sight. My men and I were barely able to fight our way out before barring the great doors to keep them inside.” He gestured to his injured Templars. “You can see for yourself how well we fared against such an overwhelming force.”

“Well…” Alistair sighed. “This puts a damper on things.”

Next to him, Everil pressed her lips together, gazing at the floor in concentration. For some reason, everything in Ferelden was falling apart _._ Not only was there a Blight, but now it seemed Connor wouldn’t be the only possessed mage they would be forced to deal with.

“The great doors will block any magic or demons trying to get out.” Greagoir motioned for the giant metal gates at the corner of the hall, arcane symbols covering every inch of it. “I have also called upon the Right of Annulment. Reinforcements from Denerim should be here soon.”

“The Right of Annulment?” Everil asked.

“It's a mandate to eradicate all the mages in a Circle of Magi that has been deemed compromised by abominations,” Alistair explained for her. “Which means the Chantry will be sending an army of Templars to go in and kill pretty much everything inside the tower.”

“That is correct,” Greagoir affirmed quietly, a guilt-ridden look over his aging features.

She turned to him, perplexed by the decision. “What about the survivors?”

“Whatever magic used by the mages responsible for this has torn the veil to the Fade, allowing evil things to come through.” He sighed sadly, shaking his head. “You didn’t see the halls filled with those monsters… Demons crawling out of every corner. Possessed mages killing other mages. If there were any survivors they would have perished by now.”

Everil gave him a critical look. “You locked them in, didn't you? You didn’t even wait to see if any mages remained alive.”

“You’re accusing me of leaving them for dead?” He glared at her, dismayed by her affront. "It's impossible for anyone to have remained alive after the carnage that ensued inside… and hoping for survivors is far too painful. It’s best to end it now and stop their suffering.”

Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. “I hate to say this, but he’s right. We should cut our losses and—”

“We will _not_ abandon them,” Everil cut in, her tone effectively silencing him. 

He winced under her disappointed eyes, swallowing his words with regret.

“Based on what you’ve told me, the mages have already helped the Grey Wardens stand against the Blight multiple times in the past. That makes them our allies.” Her expression was adamant, her voice firm with determination. “In fact, you and I have come to the Circle to once again demand of them great sacrifice against the darkspawn. I believe it is only fair to lend them aid in their time of need. Don’t you?”

“Of course… I apologize,” he replied weakly, feeling like a complete and utter fool.

“It’s fine…” She smiled a little at him. “Let’s just help them if we can.”

“Right.” Alistair nodded and smiled lightly in return, realizing that just as he taught her more about the Grey Wardens before, there were some things he had to learn from her himself. He practically grew up in the Templar order, where the dangers of magic and the fickleness of weak-willed mages were drilled into his mind. She, however, was probably not brought up to doubt them as he was. The few stories Duncan told him of his homeland spoke of her father as someone who treated people fairly. A man who probably taught his daughter to think for herself and not be easily swayed by the word of man without seeing first hand both sides of the coin.

Everil regarded Greagoir, her decision made. “Let us in, please.”

He glared at her as if she were insane. “Have you lost your mind? Let me tell you, an abomination is not something to be reckoned with.”

“My friends and I are more than capable. We will handle it.”

“Fine...” he sighed, too worn out to argue. “But know that once you step inside we will bar the doors again. And they shall remain closed unless First Enchanter Irving himself tells me the Circle is restored.”

“Understood. We will seek him out then.” She gave him a nod and walked past him, followed by her three companions.

Greagoir uneasily watched them go before he dipped his head to the guards. His men exchanged looks through the narrow slots of their helmets, then shakily whispered a chant as the runes over the great doors shimmered and began to dissipate. They then pulled them open, granting them entrance to the tower. The party walked through while the knights gazed at them as if they were on their way to their execution. Yet, none of them took care of their wary stares, following Everil without question. 

A loud echo resounded in the room when the doors closed shut, locking them in as one of the knights shook his head. “Hopeless…”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Silence was the only resident in the long, dimly lit corridor, the torches lining the walls barely holding on to their light. Yet as they walked through they could clearly see the picture the Knight-Commander painted for them moments before. As bodies in both robes and armor lay mangled and scorched at their feet, positioned in a way that suggested they were trying to run away from that which ended their lives. There was no sign of what killed them nor was there any movement to indicate anyone survived. At least thus far.

Already feeling sorry for the victims, Everil stepped into the nearest room, where numerous bunk beds were standing in a row. Bookshelves and trunks sat by them, some tipped over with their contents scattered about. There were no windows to let in the sun’s rays, only candles whose flames struggled to hold on to life. The air was nearly suffocating, hinted with dust and the smell of old parchment. She wondered if some made to live here ever got used to being locked away in such darkness. 

After seeing so much up close, there were many things about the relationship between mages and the Chantry she was beginning to understand. The Chantry taught them mages were both powerful and dangerous, whose talents were bestowed upon them by the Maker only to serve man and not rule over them. Gifts once used as a tool of oppression by the Tevinter Imperium, a nation of mages still standing today. They once enslaved the world with their magic, until a holy prophetess waged war against them.

The struggle between Andraste—the Maker’s chosen mortal wife—against the Imperium was actually the very foundation of the Chantry’s teachings. And Andrastian faith was the predominant religion in Ferelden, which meant that most of her fellow men were likely afraid of mages and their abilities. That fear gave birth to the Circles of Magi. Secluded places meant to house those magically gifted while constantly under guard by the Templar knights—warriors specifically trained to fight and contain their talents.

She glanced at her group. “Let’s split up and quickly search the room for anything of importance. If we are to help we might as well learn how all of this happened.”

They searched chests and drawers, under beds and inside wardrobes, seeking to find any bit of information they could use to retake the Circle and prevent a repeat of the tragedy. After a few moments of rummaging through a trunk, Alistair looked up from some letters in his hands. “I found something.” 

“What is it?” Everil inquired while heading towards him. 

“Some of the mages were experimenting with blood magic.” He stood from his kneeling position, handing her his findings.

A troubled expression befell her as she read over them. It seemed they were secretly communicating while performing forbidden magic behind closed doors. But why? She glanced at him. “Do you think blood magic has something to do with this?”

“Yeah... Which is probably why there are abominations roaming the tower, as Greagoir told us.”

“Perhaps we should be asking ourselves why so many were using blood magic in the first place, and working together while doing so,” Morrigan offered. “‘Tis possible there is more going on here than a few spells gone awry.”

“Agreed.” She stashed the letters into her hip bag.

The group left the dorms and continued on their way, stepping around the dead they came across. Bjorn sniffed the ground as they went, occasionally blowing out ash and dirt caught in his nose. Soon, they reached the end of the hall, stopping in front of a door as a vicious growl echoed from within the next room, prompting them to draw their weapons. 

“Someone on the other side is using magic,” Morrigan warned them, sensing the sparks in the air.

“Yeah. Could be a possessed mage…” Alistair added.

Everil nodded and reached for the door, prepared to take on whatever lay behind it before opening it. Only it wasn’t abominations seeking to destroy them that awaited them. It was a pair of women who were protecting a little boy and girl from a terrifying creature made out of hot lava. Flames covered its body, enveloping it as glowing eyes remained focused on those it sought to devour. 

It released a frightening roar, long limbs trying to strike at the aging mage standing closest to it. But she halted it in its tracks, a mist of cool air erupting from her open hand and encrusting the creature in ice. A painful wail escaped it as it froze, the cold clutching its body until it shattered to pieces. Broken crystals rained to the floor, glistening under the dim light of the torches before melting away. 

The children nearby hugged each other, crying as the young redheaded mage took a knee to console them. All were covered in dried blood and zoot, the woman’s ponytail disheveled from the fighting. The older one observed them sadly, white hair also hinted with black ash while sweat slid down her brow. 

“Wynne?”

She spun to face Everil, hands around her staff as she shielded her charges. A crease formed on her brow as she promptly recognized her, but her defensive position didn’t waver. “It’s you. You survived Ostagar?”

The Warden smiled a little. “I could say the same about you. I see you returned to the Circle afterward.”

“I-I am sorry if I am not quick to trust, but I have people to protect. Please do not move. Why are you here?”

Slowly, Everil sheathed her blades and raised both hands in a peaceful gesture. “We came seeking the mages for the fight against the Blight. With the king and the other Grey Wardens dead, we are in dire need of aid.”

“And you were no doubt told the Circle was in no condition to help.” Wynne relaxed and lowered her staff, but kept a questioning stare on her. “The Templars locked the only way out, trapping us inside. Greagoir probably thinks us all dead. Yet here you are. Why is that?”

“Greagoir has called upon the Right of Annulment. I convinced him to let me help find any survivors.”

“So he does assume we have all perished..." She tightened her grip on her staff, anger crossing her features. “The Templars… They will be here at any moment. We must search for anyone left alive and leave at once.”

Everil shook her head. “He will only open the door if the First Enchanter says it is safe.”

“Then our path has been laid out before us. We need to save Irvin and restore the Circle.”

Morrigan's voice then cut into their conversation, eyes staring disapprovingly and the Warden. “Why should we aid these pathetic excuses for mages? They have obviously chosen to live under the thumb of their oppressors. To be captives under their Templar overlords.” She paced, arms motioning to the four walls around them before gesturing to the old woman. “Their jailers have chosen to give them death... I say let them have it.”

“How dare you say such a thing?” Wynne shot her an indignant glare. “Who in the Maker's name are you?”

“Morrigan…” Everil sighed at her comment. They were already in a difficult situation without angering others whose help they needed. “Would you think the same had your life been different? Had you lived as these children did?”

Her companion crossed her arms, eyeing her as if analyzing those words. And Morrigan had to admit she hadn’t thought of that possibility before. “You say that I could have been here now, had things not happened the way they did?” She raised her eyebrows skeptically before turning away from her. “Hmph… Mother always told me things are as they are because there could not be any other way. I always questioned this. Very well... Do as you wish. I care not.”

“Thank you.” Everil dipped her head, then regarded Wynne. “My apologies for the… disagreement. I think it would be best if we make haste now. We’ve already lost enough time.”

Wynne glanced warily at Morrigan one more time before looking towards her young companion. “Petra, watch the little ones for me. I will return as quickly as I can.”

“Of course. Please be safe in there, Wynne.”

“This way…” The old mage motioned towards a door at the far side of the room and led the Grey Wardens towards it. It was glowing brightly with what appeared to be a barrier of light, blocking the way ahead. “I set this up to protect us from the creatures still lurking in the tower. It made me weary at times… but I was able to keep it upright in spite of having to battle that demon from before.”

“You did a good job,” Everil complimented, patting her shoulder.

“We will have to kill anything in our way so that no more of those things make it past here. But let us be careful.” She raised a wrinkled hand and slowly dispelled the barrier.

“That’s the plan…”

As soon as the doorway opened, a stronger scent of death assaulted their senses, much worse than that of the corridor they already explored. With a grimace, Everil stepped forward once more, walking ahead of the others while her eyes immediately landed on more bodies. Their steps echoed against the stone floor as they trekked over them, noticing that these people seemed to also have been attempting to escape when they perished. 

Faint flames cast ominous shadows the further they went as the air grew even colder, the presence of the demons inside greedily touching everything in the same way the evil presence in Redcliffe had taken hold of the castle. The quiet was interrupted by the sound of distant whispers spoken in a foreign tongue, the sinister tones sending shivers down their spines. Whatever it was, it sounded far away, but it still felt as if something was watching them.

“This is the junior apprentice wing,” Wynne spoke quietly behind them. “These were the youngest of the mages in the Circle. We... lost so many of them when this began… The children you saw with me outside were the only ones left.”

An open door led them to another dormitory, this one filled with smaller beds. Everil’s boot nearly squashed a stuffed bear and she reached down to pick it up, looking sadly at it. It was covered in ash and burned at the edges, much the same as a great portion of the room. Her head then craned to the side and a breath caught in her throat at what she saw. 

Little bodies were gathered into a pile, some burned to a crisp while others appeared to have been torn to shreds by claws or teeth. Terror was still visible over their features, some with their mouths hanging open in a silent scream. The sickening scene caused her grip on the toy to tighten and she found herself unable to tear her gaze away from those vacant stares.

“Oh…” Wynne’s hand flew to cover her mouth, the sight of them instantly bringing tears to her eyes. “How could they…”

“By the Maker… This is horrible…” Alistair uttered from beside her, taking a hesitant step forward.

“Better they die now than live in a cage for the rest of their lives,” Morrigan said, uncaring.

“How can you say something like that!” Wynne questioned, pain-stricken. “Even now as you see how much pain magic can inflict!”

She ignored her, not even bothering to look at her.

“Don’t let her get to you…” Alistair told the old woman, patting her arm. “Might as well get used to the witch’s sharp tongue. You'll hear a lot more from it soon.”

“Witch…? This woman is an apostate?” she asked shakily before her blue eyes narrowed at Morrigan. “Now it all makes sense. Such ideals come from misguided mages who think themselves too powerful to fail.”

“You know nothing of me, old hag…” Morrigan countered, shooting her a sideward glare.

“Wynne...”

They all craned their heads towards Everil, who had stepped closer to the bodies, her back turned to them. She was gazing upon them, still holding the stuffed animal to her chest. “Do you know how all of this happened?”

Wynne released a quivering breath, her own heart heavy with grief. “I… I heard there were many young mages dabbling in the dark arts. Uldred—a senior Enchanter within the Circle—seems to be involved in it all. I believe this was a planned attack, but I do not know the details behind its purpose.”

“How could they do this? These children weren't at fault for what happened here—no matter the reason,” Everil murmured, quiet anger in her eyes. “Those responsible must pay dearly for what they caused.”

Wynne smiled weakly at her. “Calm yourself, Warden. We will see justice done. Just focus on—”

An animalistic roar erupted from all around them, echoing in the room and chilling them all to the core. The group was momentarily frozen on the spot, hearts pounding wildly as the whispers from earlier resonated in their minds. It sounded like a man chanting with two voices, one darker than the other. Wet sounds joined it when the pile of corpses moved, shifting slowly as if something were hiding beneath it.

“Stand back!” Everil quickly pushed Wynne behind her, dropped the toy and reached for her sword. She watched the mountain of meat, tiny arms, and legs as an evil being pushed itself up from within. It began hunched over, the children falling from its back like broken dolls before it straightened, standing a good seven feet over them as it let out a drawn-out groan. Torn robes hung over its humanoid figure, its skin deformed underneath, clinging to it as if it were a burn victim itself. It stared at her through a single eye, its face half-covered in a thick mass of flesh.

“What in the…?” The female Warden took a step back, horrified by its appearance.

“It’s an abomination!” Wynne screamed.

The creature began to summon a swirl of flames that ignited around it, surging upwards like a vortex as the party backed away. It then unleashed its power, hot fire surging directly towards them, searing everything in its path.

“Watch out!” Alistair grabbed Wynne by the waist and yanked her with him as they all split up. They ran, desperately seeking cover from the incoming attack.

A blast of heat and fire erupted in the room, raging like an inferno as it charred anything in its path. The force of the flaming whirlwind slammed beds and dressers against other objects, shattering them into an explosion of burning wood. One dresser hit too close to Morrigan as she, Everil, and her hound took cover behind a wall. She covered her face, blocking the burning splinters that flew at them. Meanwhile, Alistair and Wynne ducked behind a large trunk on one side of the room, his arm wrapping around the old woman’s shoulders as he shielded her from the debris. 

It took a moment for the storm to die down, but flames still burned in every corner. Cursing under his breath, Alistair drew his blade and shield before cautiously glancing over their cover. The creature was still standing among the now burning bodies, the smell of sulfur and scorched meat drowning them in its stench. 

He clenched his jaw. Say what you will about mages, but their possessed forms were feared for good reason. Abominations could use magic tirelessly, without the need for lyrium, while the demon inside made them many times more powerful than a normal mage. He wouldn't have time to use his Templar abilities on it before even he was burned to a crisp. They had to cut it down before it could use another spell or they'd be dead for sure.

As if sensing his thoughts, the monster began to cast once more, its sheer power overwhelming his senses.

“Everil!” Alistair called from where he hid. “We have to flank this thing and end it quickly!”

“Got it!” She yelled back.

He shifted to Wynne. “Can you cast that ice spell from earlier?”

She nodded confidently. “Of course.” 

“Good. Do it just before we close in on it.” He prepared himself, setting his sights on the creature.

“Come, mortals!” the thing roared, taking a step over the dead as fire swirled around it again. “I shall cook you alive and feast upon your soul!”

“Everil, now!” Alistair cried out and jumped over his hiding spot, charging towards the abomination head-on with his shield ready.

Everil ran the length of the wall separating the room, emerging at the other side and quickly rushing the monster from behind. Wynne then cast her spell, encrusting it in ice and buying them just a few seconds more.

“No!” it screamed and growled, trying to free itself as its legs were frozen still.

The two Grey Wardens cried out as they closed in and swung their blades, each aiming for their enemy's middle. They cut through it, swords shattering its frozen body in half as its agonizing scream pierced their ears. Its magic dissipated as quickly as it came, the abomination crumbling to pieces. And then everything was quiet again.

Everil gazed at the remains, wiping sweat from her chin with the back of her hand, accidentally smearing zoot over it. “That was too close for comfort.” 

With a huff, Alistair sheathed his sword, grimly looking at the devastation left behind as minor fires raged around them. “Yeah… We should keep our guard up. I’m pretty sure there’s more of them along the way and we really don't want to be caught by surprise again.”

“Right…” She glanced at the others. “Let's keep moving.”

With the monster dead, they made their way up to the second floor. They opened another door at the end of the dark passage, reaching a seemingly desolate chamber. It was a circular area, with bookshelves and benches against the walls. It seemed no one was inside, but movement from the corner of her eye caught Everil’s attention, drawing it to an adjacent room with two wide arches.

“Who goes there?” she called, gripping her weapon and cautiously making her way towards it as the others followed. Everil walked to one of the archways and entered, finding the room was filled with strange artifacts that seemed magical in nature. Colors glistened from glass orbs on the shelves, reflecting off of crystal vases and bottles set upon the tables. The mystifying atmosphere was however ruined by the dead bodies and severed limbs lying on the ground by her feet. And she grimaced at the sight before her eyes went up to a single mage standing a distance in front of her.

He was a young man, black hair combed back. “Welcome to the Circle’s stockroom of magical items. My name is Owain. Please ignore the mess. I have not finished cleaning duties.”

“Owain! I am so glad to see you yet live.” Wynne approached him, wrapping her arms around him. The boy didn’t reciprocate the hug, his features devoid of emotions.

“The demons could not see me. But the others were not so fortunate,” he replied in a monotone voice. 

Everil raised a brow at this. There was death and destruction all around him, but he didn’t seem fazed by it. “Why are you here? Why didn’t you try to escape?” She stepped closer, noticing the strange crimson symbol etched over his forehead. It reminded her of the sun, with its swirling flames bordering a perfect disc.

He turned lifeless eyes to her. “There was a magical barrier blocking the way. So I found it necessary to return here.”

Wynne smiled apologetically. “Owain, you should have said something. I would have brought down the barrier for you.”

“The stockroom is familiar.”

“Why is he responding in a monotone? Is he all right?” Everil asked curiously.

“He is one of the tranquil—mages whose magical abilities were taken away to protect them and others around them,” Wynne explained sadly. “Magic is tied to our feelings and our dreams… to our connection to the Fade. By stripping a mage of these things you also take away their ability to cast spells.”

Morrigan put on a revolted scowl. “You would do this to one of your own?”

Wynne’s brows furrowed guiltily. “It is the only way to avoid tragedies like these while also saving the mage’s life.”

“And I can see how well that worked out. This here is the reason why I dislike you Circle mages,” she retorted, motioning to the tranquil. “I would have rather died than be turned into this.”

“What makes the Circle decide if it’s necessary to turn a mage tranquil?” Everil questioned, drawing Wynne’s attention away from her irritated friend.

“There are various factors… Such as a mage failing to demonstrate control over their talents after a certain amount of training. Or if they are prone to rebellion against the Circle’s teachings or tamper with forbidden arts. They are also turned tranquil if they do not wish to undertake the Harrowing.”

“The Harrowing?”

“It’s a test mages have to take in order to prove they aren't prone to demonic possession,” Alistair replied, crossing his arms. “Templars use other mages to send a mage into the Fade and pit them against a demon. If they become possessed then the Templars are forced to kill them, but if they defeat the demon then they are allowed to live and continue practicing magic. It’s similar to our Joining Ritual, in a way.”

“I see…” she said, frowning while regarding him. “I take it you witnessed a Harrowing before, then?”

“I did. The mage ended up becoming possessed.” He uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck. “We had to end it quickly… And let me just say that I was far less interested in becoming a Templar after that.”

Everil’s gaze shifted to the tranquil, who was staring at her with an unnervingly blank expression. “I have to agree with Morrigan... There is no mercy in this. He is simply kept here as a warning to those mages who would dare challenge the Chantry and to force them into submission.”

“Heh…” Alistair let out a wry chuckle. “Yes… That sounds like them, all right.”

Owain bowed his head at her. “Do not fret over my fate. While I am devoid of emotions, I am not suffering. I am at peace without the burdens feelings bring upon one. However, it would be appropriate if the Circle returned to normal, as it would be inconvenient for me to die.”

“Yes,” Everil laughed softly. “I can understand that. Perhaps there's something you can offer to help us?”

“I am afraid everything of value is gone. The last item of any significant power was taken by one who sought to save the Circle. Niall the mage.”

“Niall?” Wynne asked with a hint of surprise. “What did he take, Owain? How is he trying to save the Circle?”

“He took the Litany of Adralla. I do not know how he will use it but perhaps he will be successful.”

Wynne's stunned eyes shot to Everil. “Maker, the Litany protects against a maleficar’s abilities to control one’s mind. This means that blood magic is truly at the core of what happened here. ”

“Then we should try to catch up with this Niall,” she said, then offered the tranquil a reassuring smile. “Thank you, Owain. Stay safe while we help fix this mess, all right?”

“Understood.” He clasped his hands together and bowed his head again. “Thank you.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

They made it to the fourth floor with only a few skirmishes with more abominations and low-level demons, while at the same time, finding no other survivors on their way up. The halls were mostly full of more dead, but Everil guessed there had to be more mages somewhere. Perhaps hiding or avoiding the creatures stalking the rooms they managed to sneak by. She only hoped this First Enchanter Irving would still be among those still alive.

“Is it just me or is it getting colder the higher we go?” Alistair muttered, rubbing his hands while shivering involuntarily.

“It's the magic at use here... The air is charged with it,” Morrigan said, mysticism in her voice.

The party continued following the torchlit corridor, all senses on alert. Until they reached the end of the hallway and were walking through a door when a sudden flash of light was fired their way. Crackling lightning came shooting towards them at great speed, surprising all of them.

“Shit!” Alistair barely had enough time to rush in front of the women and pull up his shield to block the violent strike, protecting them and the hound. He gritted his teeth as the hot sparks clashed and wrapped around the metal like crawling spiders, leaving searing heat behind. Swallowing, he gazed at the back of his shield as the magic dissipated, the warmth radiating from the steel causing him to be silently grateful for the wooden frame that protected his arm. He slowly lowered it, blinking away the colors caused by the sudden flash of light.

“There!” Everil called out, pulling her weapons as she spotted a blonde woman standing a distance from them, in what appeared to be a study hall. She had blood dripping down her hand, her robes also stained crimson as magic swirled and flowed as water around her.

“A maleficar…!” Alistair readied his blade, seeing she was priming another spell. “We need to take her down and fast or she'll be trouble!”

“Come on!”

Both Grey Wardens charged into the room, trying to quickly close the distance to the mage as the energy around her swirled menacingly. But no matter how fast they ran, the spell was cast before they could reach her. A cloud of mist erupted from the ground, filling the area and blocking their view. Everil slashed at the spot where the mage once stood, finding only air.

She whirled around. “Blast it! Where is she?”

A ball of fire cut through the fog and the two of them had to jump in opposite directions to dodge it. They ran as another wave of flames forced Everil behind a pillar. The heat spread around her when it hit, searing the stone right by her head. She clicked her tongue. “How can she see us, when we can’t see her?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not fair!” Alistair called back, ducking behind a table off to the side.

Morrigan and Wynne tried to see past the fog, still standing by the doorway. A flash of red caught their eye and the witch was forced to raise a barrier of ice to shield them from the blast. Another one hit close to the wall by Wynne, drawing a startled scream from her. 

Morrigan cursed under her breath. “Will you two end it already!”

"We're bloody trying!" Alistair peered over the table only to duck again as a wave of flames passed over him, burning the bookshelf in front of him. He scowled irritably, reaching up to make sure his hair hadn’t been set on fire. “All right, that does it!” he growled, then shouted over his cover. “Wynne, Morrigan, stay out of the room!”

“We intend to!” Morrigan called back.

Sword in hand, he rose and began speaking under his breath, chanting words taught to him in the monastery. He tried to focus on every syllable in his memory while the sparks in the air told him the blood mage was preparing another spell. A sudden growl and a female cry were heard when something disrupted the mage’s casting, giving him enough time to utter the last word. The fog dispersed, swept away by an invisible force. And the mage’s lingering magic was effectively canceled by his will. 

She let out a weak grunt when her cover was taken away, meanwhile, trying to fight the dog still pinning her down. He chewed at her wooden staff, jaws snapping at it as it tried to pry it out of her hands. “Let go, mutt!” she screamed, shooting fire at his face. He yelped, pulling away and pawing at his snout as the mage pushed him off and got on her feet.

“Bjorn!” Everil yelled, angrily dashing towards the enemy, both blades at the ready. But the woman was already casting again, summoning more magic from her blood. She dodged a slash from her and unleashed her power upon the Grey Warden, sending raw magic surged forth. It lifted her off the ground as if alive, a wave of ice and snow taking hold of her legs. It crawled up, frigid claws clutching her and holding her in place as she cried out in pain.

“Put me down! Right… now!” Everil demanded, squirming against the creeping ice while freezing, stabbing needles pierced through muscles and nerves.

"Be careful what you wish for…" With a sneer, the mage walked up to her and raised her staff, preparing to shatter her legs.

_Damn it…!_ She clenched her jaw, unable to move and left at her mercy. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” Alistair ran in, swinging his blade and forcing her away from his fellow Warden. He then lunged forth and slashed, only to hit a sheet of ice she’d cast as a barrier. 

Clicking her tongue, she sidestepped and flung a ball of fire at him. But he blocked with his shield, deflecting the flames downwards and away from his face. He darted towards her once more, bringing his blade in a downward strike before she blocked the hit at the last second. 

“You…! You’re a Templar!” she growled through gritted teeth, arms shaking under the weight of his sword as he stared her down.

“Oh, so you noticed? What gave me away? Was it how I could just wish away your little spells?” He smirked, taking a step forward while making her take two steps back. “Or is it the fact that I’m about to beat you senseless with your own staff?”

Panic crept into her green eyes at his words before Alistair easily broke through the stalemate, shattering her defenses and drawing a startled cry out of her. He brought his sword back around, slashing her arm open, red splattering the ground. She scrambled away from him, trying to put distance between them. But he kept coming, striking at her without pause. Some attacks she blocked, others she was barely able to dodge before she gathered enough courage to cast another spell. 

Sensing it, Alistair brought his shield up, blocking the ice that quickly began to spread over the steel. With a grunt, he swiftly struck it with his blade, shattering it before rushing at her once more. He slashed at her, grazing her staff as splinters flew. Then he swung downwards, forcing her to lean back to avoid it. 

He felt her begin to cast again and beat her to it, canceling out her spell as she gasped. She moved away in fear as he attacked, managing to pierce her hip before once again using his will to take away her ability to use magic.

The maleficar panted heavily, feeling all energy drain out of her before her knees buckled and she fell on her rear, dropping her staff. “Wait!” She raised a hand to him, trying to move away while pleading to him. “I yield! Please… let me explain!”

Alistair took a step, stare devoid of humor as he pressed the tip of his blade to her throat. 

A chill ran down her spine and she gulped, taking notice of the anger in his eyes. “Please…”

Keeping the sword on her, Alistair glanced over the shoulder at his fellow Warden. With a hint of relief, he saw Everil was pushing herself up to her feet, having been freed from the ice upon the mage’s defeat. She promptly put away her weapons and inspected her hound, carefully checking his face.

“Are you two all right?” Alistair asked from where he stood, watching as they began heading his way. 

“Yes… Bjorn will need some salve later, though," she responded moodily, petting the canine walking beside her while Wynne and Morrigan also followed a distance behind. They approached him, cautiously eyeing the mage on the ground. While the weakened woman remained as still as she could, too afraid to move as her eyes shifted between the Templar and the others in his party.

Alistair lowered his sword and slid it back at his hip. “She won’t be able to cast any spells for now. We can go ahead and question her.”

“Good...” Everil uttered, her chilling stare set upon her. “You're lucky I don't just end you for hurting my dog... Now, start talking. Why have you done this to the Circle?”

“We…” The mage anxiously licked her lips, unnerved by her glare. “We just wanted our freedom. Freedom from the Chantry… from this prison. We were just supposed to overthrow the Circle and escape.”

“How exactly?”

“Uldred told us he was working for Teyrn Loghain. That if we managed to leave the Circle, then Loghain would extend us amnesty and help free all the mages from the Chantry’s hold.”

“Him again?” Alistair muttered angrily. “Why is Loghain doing all this?”

The mage shook her head. “There was no explanation. We were only told he would help and we were desperate enough to believe it. However... most couldn’t handle the power that comes with blood magic. They were either possessed or turned insane. Then everything just started falling apart…"

Everil glowered at her. “I know the Circle doesn’t exactly foster trust from the mages. But was your freedom worth all these lives?”

“You don’t know how it feels…!” she uttered pitifully. “You are trapped here from the moment you are brought into the tower, until the end of your days. And the Templars are always… always watching. I wanted my life back. So blood magic became a… means to an end. A tool to release us all.”

“I understand what you were trying to do. But the ends don’t justify the means,” Wynne told her with disappointment. “This was a place of refuge for us, just as it may have been a prison for you. Some of us fear ourselves, our power. Without a school to learn how to control it, we are just as much a danger to everyone else as we are to ourselves.”

“You say it as if we had a choice, Wynne. We are torn away from our families as soon as our powers manifest.” She drew in a shuddering breath, tears forming in her eyes. “I don’t even remember what my parents looked like!”

“But using blood magic—”

“Andraste did not write the Tevinter Imperium a strongly worded letter when she freed the world from slavery. She waged war! And sometimes that’s what it takes.”

“Andraste didn’t kill children either.”

The mage turned a shocked gaze towards the female Warden, who regarded her sharply in return. She visibly swallowed, hands closing to fists. “The other mages took arms against us, just as the Templars did. We had to defend ourselves! I… I didn’t want to die...”

“There were children amongst the dead,” Everil repeated more forcefully.

“I know!” the woman screeched, guilt-ridden. “I didn't have a choice! Some had been possessed when the veil was torn!”

“Which was also your fault!” She snapped, taking a step as the maleficar flinched away. “Don't you dare give me that victim rubbish! You did have a choice and you made it when you and your friends attacked the Circle! And just how do you think this will look to the very people you were trying to free yourselves from? All you did was prove to them that magic is not worthy of trust!”

A brief silence filled the room as Everil’s accusing glare pinned the woman down. The others in her party watched her, surprised by her outburst.

“I just want to leave this place… please...” the woman choked out.

“No…” Everil drew her blade. “It’s too late for you.”

“N-no! Please! I beg you!” She moved to kneel before her, clasping her hands together as tears streamed freely down her flushed face. “I will redeem myself! I will make this right! Please, if you let me go I will seek refuge in the Chantry!” 

Alistair gazed at Everil’s profile, seeing her lips were pressed into a line while the hand holding the sword slightly shook. For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze slowly losing its edge. But then she closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry…”

The group stared in shock when her blade pierced the maleficar’s chest. It cut through her heart, crimson gushing down her once blue robe and onto the floor. The woman released a soft cry as the Warden pulled the blade out and fell on her side, eyes glazing over into nothingness as she perished.

Still staring at the mage’s body, Everil swung her blade clean and sheathed it. “We’re done here... Let's keep moving.” She turned her back to them, walking to the next door on the far side of the chamber without waiting for them to follow. Bjorn went after her without question while Morrigan did the same, her stoic expression hiding any feelings she may have towards what she witnessed.

Alistair was about to walk after them when Wynne’s voice made him pause. “Your friend...”

He turned to her, seeing the troubled expression over her features as she spoke, staring at the corpse. “She killed her when she was begging for her life. Is that not just as cruel and dishonorable as killing someone who is unarmed?”

“If she let her live, this blood mage would have likely injured or killed the Templars waiting outside to make her escape,” he quietly answered, attempting to rationalize her actions. “In killing her, she protected those men, and others outside the tower. Not to mention, I'm pretty sure the Templars wouldn't have been as merciful towards her. She would have been executed in a much more painful way.”

“How do you know she wouldn't have just surrendered?” Wynne challenged, her eyes turning away from the body and towards the young man next to her. 

“Let me put it this way… When was the last time you heard about the Chantry welcoming maleficarum into their fold?”

“Ah…” A deep sigh escaped her. “Yes. You may be right…”

“It wasn’t an easy decision for her,” he explained, gazing towards Everil’s retreating back. “She even apologized and gave her a quick death. None of which the maleficar deserved after what she did.” He returned his gaze to the old woman, smiling a little while doing his best to reassure her. “Everil did the right thing… even if we don’t all agree with her.”

“I suppose so.” Wynne gazed to the ground, feeling slightly ashamed at having passed judgment upon her without taking her emotions into consideration.

“Come on.” Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder. “We should catch up to them before they run into trouble.”

She nodded and gave the blood mage one final glance before following the Grey Warden to the door. Perhaps he was right. The young woman certainly had the nerve to make difficult decisions. Wynne could only hope that she would be able to live with the choices she makes.


	16. The Sloth Demon

⚜

  
  
  


_ S _ _ hadows shifted along the walls _ as the group entered the fifth floor, again hearing nothing but their own footsteps. Until Morrigan’s derisive voice disrupted the quiet. “I still cannot believe you actually have Templar abilities, Alistair.”

He glanced at her, arching an eyebrow. “Why is that surprising? I already said I was trained as one.”

“Hmm…” She thoughtfully tapped her chin with a delicate finger. “The Chantry does not usually let go of their Templars, or so I heard. Which made me wonder if perhaps you were utterly useless as one and if your ineptitude was the reason why you were ultimately given to the Grey Wardens.” 

Alistair sighed in irritation. “I was not  _ given _ to the Grey Wardens…”

“Then you were conscripted? Perhaps out of pity by your Duncan?” The glare he shot her drew an amused laugh out of her. “So I guessed correctly!” 

“Quiet…!” Everil hushed them as they continued their search through the tower, following the rounded corridors. This level was just as stained with blood and filled with corpses as the first. They didn't need any attention drawn to them.

“Are you done trying to ridicule me?” he hissed, fruitlessly attempting to ignore Morrigan’s mocking smile.

She rolled her eyes, whispering back. “I was only curious. No need to get so defensive. One would think that perhaps you were hiding something.”

“I already told her... Your trick won’t work this time.”

“You told her what, exactly?”

He half-smiled at her curiosity. “You think you're smarter than me, so figure it out yourself.”

“Oh, please...” She huffed, lifting her nose while dismissively waving him off. “I am not that interested in the likes of you.”

“Really? That’s too bad. I thought we were becoming friends. I was even thinking of complimenting your looks some time.”

Her brows met at the bridge of her nose as she blinked at him. “What?”

“You see... I was looking at you the other day and it occurred to me that you have a very nice nose.” He leaned in, a grin spreading over his lips. “It looks exactly like your mother’s.”

It took her a minute to register the meaning behind his words, then Morrigan's gaze darkened. “I… hate you so much...”

Alistair inwardly patted himself on the back, turning away from her with a satisfied smile. It wasn't often he got his in on the annoying woman. And by the way she kept glaring daggers at his profile, he could tell he'd really struck a nerve this time. 

Eventually, they reached another door near the end of the passage, which Everil carefully opened for them. Behind it was a desolate office, with books and papers scattered about. Shelves and strange artifacts lined the walls, while an ornate desk sat at the center. A single oil lamp burned over it, illuminating the space enough to let them see that no one was inside.

Wynne sighed in disappointment. “This is Irvin’s office. I half-expected him to be here.”

“We'll just have to keep searching.” Everil stepped over the blue carpet towards the desk, intent on searching it for anything of value. She scanned the books, noticing that some of them were related to blood magic. Careful hands picked up a tome and flipped through the pages and she found herself wondering why these texts were even housed within the Circle when they were supposed to be forbidden in nature.

“I may have found something,” Morrigan called, standing above a large trunk sitting in a dark corner of the room. 

“Irvin keeps old scriptures inside that chest,” said Wynne. “He may have left something we can use, though he always carried the key with him.”

“Let me have a look.” Everil set down the book she’d been looking at and walked over. She took a knee, pulling out her lock pick as the others gathered around her. The lock made clicking noises as she twisted the thin pieces of metal, trying to undo the mechanism while wearing her lip in concentration.

“Are you sure you can open it?” Morrigan eventually asked, crossing her arms impatiently.

A loud click was heard.

“How could you ever doubt me?” Everil replied with a cocky grin. She rose and stepped aside, letting her open it and rummage through its contents. 

In moments the witch let out a triumphant 'aha!' and lifted herself from the floor, holding a black, leather-bound book. “This is it!” She presented Everil her prize, a rare, genuine smile on her face. “Flemeth’s old grimoire… This book represents the first time my mother’s secrets slipped out of her fingers. If I can study this, I will be able to learn more than she wished for me to know. About her… and about magic.”

“Flemeth? She's that fabled witch's daughter? I thought those were mere legends...” Wynne commented with surprise. “I suppose that explains her hostility towards the Circle of Magi.”

Alistair chuckled next to her. “And everything else, really.”

“I imagine Flemeth has many secrets,” Everil said with interest.

“She does indeed...” Morrigan cleared her throat, her sunny disposition fading as quickly as it came. “I thank you for allowing me to search for it. I shall not squander this opportunity and I will ensure to use my findings for our benefit.”

Everil laughed a little at her formality. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

“Y-Yes… Certainly,” she stammered awkwardly, quickly stashing the book in her bag. 

A man’s scream then echoed through the hall, startling the group. They exchanged glances before hastily making for the door, entering the dark corridor once more. Their feet hit the ground, following the cries as Alistair and Everil ran in the front. 

The lighting drastically changed from torchlight to a strange purple and red glow as what appeared to be sacks of flesh emerged from around the corner. The scent of rot and decay slapped them in the face as they kept moving, crossing over into what appeared to be another world as more masses appeared, mixed in with what remained of some dead bodies. But in spite of the dread their new surroundings brought, they didn't stop even to catch their breaths.

They burst into a wide room filled with dead bodies and saturated with an almost unbearable stench decay. A greater number of fleshy growths covered the walls, pulsing and throbbing as if alive. The Wardens took tentative steps forward, followed by the rest of their party as they looked around, grimacing in disgust. Not even the darkspawn were capable of such corruption. At least not in this form.

Everil's gaze trailed over the floors, following the vine-like tendrils which traveled along what seemed to have once been a prayer chamber. Her eyes fell on a monster standing at the center, its disfigured hand holding the wrist of a young, brown-haired man lying at its feet. The creature moved its head sluggishly, blank stare focusing upon the new arrivals. It had the same horrifying features as the abomination from the children's dormitory, though this one appeared to have a higher level of intelligence.

“Ah… guests,” it spoke, a faint smile playing over its deformed lips. 

“It has Niall!” Wynne gasped in horror.

“What have you done to that mage?” Everil drew her blade and aimed it at the creature. 

It released a breathless groan and directed its blank stare at Niall’s unconscious form, shoulders shaking with what sounded like a rough laughter. “He is merely resting. He was so very, very weary.” Its attention returned to her and it titled its grotesque head as if curious. “Are you not tired of all the fighting? Surely your mortal body demands rest by now.”

A heavy aura fell over them at the abomination's command, weighing them down and greedily draining away their energy. Their eyelids grew heavy, their bodies craving rest against their will. Alistair brought a hand to his temple, a strange fog filling his thoughts as he fought to stay awake. “Something’s not right… So tired... Somebody pinch me…”

Morrigan leaned on her staff, glaring at the ground. “You cannot expect me... to sleep on a floor sticky with blood.”

“Resist…” Wynne attempted to keep them on their feet. “You must resist…!”

But the creature continued, its words like a soft lullaby in their ears. “Oh, how good it would feel to finally take a nap. To sleep away the pain in your sore muscles. To let yourselves drift towards a deep slumber and dream.”

“What…? What are you… doing to us?” Everil’s blade shook as she tries to fight back, staring at it through half-lidded eyes.

“You should rest… come lay upon my breast and  _ sleep _ ."

The Warden's vision faded to black as she fell, her weapon clattering on the ground. The others followed suit, dropping beside her. All were claimed by their exhaustion as the abomination stood over them, gazing upon its new morsels while a dark cackle rumbled from inside it. And it was pleased, for today it would feast well.

  
⚜⚜⚜⚜

Birds chirped just outside her slightly open window as gentle drops of rain slid over the glass pane. The sound of the soldiers training outside could be heard, giving her a familiar sense of security. Everil shifted her gaze from the beauty of the lush, green lands outside to her bed, already made for her by their maids. She couldn’t remember what it was she was doing before coming to her room, but for some reason, she didn’t care. She was relaxed. At peace.

Everil adjusted her olive green gown, gold-embroidered skirts touching the floor as the long sleeves almost covered her hands. She fluffed her hair a little and began making her way out to the hall, closing the door behind her. She usually had Bjorn with her, but he was nowhere to be seen. A slight frown creased her brow in puzzlement upon finding his absence strange.

_ “Ah… He is probably raiding the larder again. Let him be. Surely there would be no harm done,”  _ a voice that wasn’t her own echoed in her head, murmuring soothingly to her. 

“Yes… He's only hungry,” she whispered to herself while sauntering along the familiar passages of Highever Castle, heading towards the gardens. 

The rain had stopped by the time she stepped outside, leaving glistering droplets over the greenery. A little boy’s distant laughter reached her ears, bringing a smile to her lips and warmth to her heart. She followed the sound, walking by rose bushes and gardenias while enjoying the aroma the flowers gifted them in exchange for their care. 

When Everil reached the clearing, she saw her nephew running through it, chased by a man she recognized as her older brother, Fergus. Her smile widened when the two fell and rolled over the sparkling grass. A voice chastised them gently, and she looked towards it to find Oriana chuckling while walking to the pair. 

Another couple sat under a wooden canopy by a pond, their loving smiles beckoning her to join them. They were her parents, dressed in their fine garbs while sipping tea, which they did together at around this time every day. Gentle music filled the background as her family's bard played the lute nearby, the soft tunes bringing about a deep sense of nostalgia.

Her feet were taking her towards them just as a small voice in the back of her head told her something was amiss. That something wasn’t right. But Everil ignored it, the happiness inside her forcefully shoving it aside. She couldn’t tell why she was so elated to see them. As if she hadn’t been with them in years. But it didn’t matter. All she wanted was to be near them now.

As she approached, her mother rose from her chair and opened her arms wide, pulling her into a warm embrace. Everil returned the hug, holding her tightly, while at the same time, confused as to why the contact caused her chest to ache so much.

Eleanor pulled away to gently stroke her cheek. “You join us at last, my darling girl.”

“Yes, Mother…” she replied quietly as her father came to join them.

“It's such a beautiful day. Don’t you agree?” her mother said, smiling lovingly at her.

“Yes… It is indeed. Though it was raining just earlier.”

That same whisper from before echoed in her brain, drowning all reason.  _ “You all loved the rainy days at the castle. Look at how joyous your family looks.” _

She chuckled at this, smiling brightly. “I suppose there’s nothing odd about playing in a little rain. Where’s Ser Gilmore, by the way? Is he at the training grounds with the men?”

“Yes. Yes, he is,” Bryce replied, giving her a knowing look. “Though I could send for him if you’d like...”

A light blush spread over her cheeks. “N-No… It’s quite all right. He has his own duties to complete. Perhaps I’ll go say hello later.”

“Auntie Evy! Look!”

Her attention went to Oren, seeing him dancing to the bard’s tune with his mother. He tried to twirl her around but was too short to manage it on his own. Oriana giggled and bent over to help him, awkwardly turning her body beneath his small arm.

“That looks like fun.” Eleanor gazed at her husband, placing a hand on his arm. “Bryce, you should dance with your daughter. She may need a new lesson.”

He let out a light laugh. “That is an excellent idea, my love. This child of mine was always a terrible dancer.”

“The student is sometimes only as good as their teacher, Father,” Everil countered jokingly.

“Touché…” Bryce chuckled and grinned proudly while stepping closer to her. With a hand at his back, he bowed before her, the other outstretched in a formal request. “Would you kindly grant me this piece, my lady?”

She playfully rolled her eyes and followed along, offering him a polite curtsy before placing her hand on his.

The two of them made for the clearing as the bard continued to play, this time a different piece. Father and daughter followed the melody, slowly dancing as if it were a ball. She was a little clumsy in her steps, but muscle memory prevailed. 

One. Two. Three. 

One. Two. Three.

“You are not as bad as I remember,” he teased.

“Same to you, Father,” Everil chuckled with a sarcastic smile.

It was all almost magical. As if this were the place where she was meant to be. How she was meant to live. With her family, in her home, surrounded by their love. But as they continued to waltz to the melody, a strange feeling was again trying to warn her. Insistently poking at her brain. Beckoning her to place her attention on the gaps between her thoughts.

“Wait…” Confusion gradually creased her brow and her feet stopped moving to the music. “I feel as if I'm forgetting something.”

“Nonsense,” her father replied dismissively. “There is nothing to forget. Just enjoy the time with your family.”

“No… This is… odd. There was something important I had to do.” She withdrew from him, visibly frustrated while shaking her head in an attempt to clear the fog. “What was it...? What was it that I was supposed to do?”

“Ignore that feeling.” His eyes darkened, but the smile remained. “You should not leave us again.” 

She regarded him with a puzzled expression, unable to comprehend. “What are you saying? I've always been here.”

He embraced her, holding her as he used to when she was a child. “Then that is all that matters. We will all be together like this, forever.”

Everil returned the hug, instantly feeling safe. She sighed and closed her eyes, her worries fading away. Yes. This was where she belonged. This is where she wanted to stay.  _ Forever… _

“Don’t!” A hand grabbed her from behind, yanking her out of her father’s arms and sending her to the ground with an ‘oomph’. 

She shot her aggressor an angry glare and then immediately recognized his robes. He was a mage. Someone she’d seen somewhere before. 

“Wake up!” he yelled, taking a knee to shake her by the shoulders. “This is not what you think it is. These people are demons trying to fool you! You’re in the Fade!”

She smacked one of his hands away. “What in the Maker’s name are you—” And then the voice from before screamed, snapping her out of the trance she’d been under. Shock was etched over her face as everything rushed back into her mind, slamming into her like a brick wall. 

Her family’s death. 

The Blight. 

Redcliffe. 

The Circle. 

The abomination. 

Her friends.

“This… This isn’t real?” she repeated in almost a whisper. Her stunned stare trailed from the mage’s deep brown eyes up to her father, who was looking down at them from a short distance away. Gone was the love and warmth he had before, replaced by nothing but emptiness. A shell devoid of a soul.

“No…” the mage said beside her, following her line of vision while still clutching her shoulder to keep her grounded. “These things aren’t your family. All of this is a dream created by Sloth—a powerful demon capable of manipulating other victims through its host. These creatures are familiars that follow his command. Sloth wants to keep you here and devour your soul while you sleep, so he’s using your memories to fool you into staying inside your dreams.”

Her gaze narrowed dangerously as she listened, anger rising at the trickery.

“Yes. This may not be real… But it is what you want, no?” The false Bryce took a step towards the two, his voice now carrying with it a second one. “We can give you this, and more. You will live happily with those you love for eternity. All you have to do is stay.”

Everil pushed herself to her feet with the mage's help, her attention still set on the creatures that began to etch closer. “Niall, is it?”

“That’s right…” he replied with a half-smile. “I take it you ran into Owain on your way up. Did you come to help the Circle?”

“Yes. I have a party of capable people with me, too. But they are likely trapped, as I am.”

“Then we need to hurry. I'll help you get to them.”

The two slowly retreated as the enemy stalked nearer. 

“I appreciate it...” Her attention darted from one familiar to another as they continued to retreat. She was unarmed, and without her weapons, the only thing she could possibly do was break their necks. Unfortunately, she wasn’t all too eager to fight her family. Fake or not.

The faces that once belonged to her loved ones slowly turned sinister, twisted with malice. They sneered, drool drizzling from their mouths as claws grew out from their fingertips. And they all spoke as if they were all one.  _ “Stay with us! Stay!” _

“Run!” Niall grabbed her hand and spun about, taking her with him. She let him lead as they hastily crossed the clearing, her faux family giving chase as their wide strides and twitching bodies revealed their true nature. They headed for the treeline past the garden, leaving the castle behind as the massive structure began to break apart at Sloth's command.

“Where are we going?” Everil shouted, picking up her dress so as to not trip.

“You’ll see, just keep running!”

Their feet hit the ground, with Niall guiding her deeper into the woods. Trees and bushes zoomed by as they tried to put distance between them and the demons, but they were gaining ground. Her father’s copy was nearly reaching for her hair, fingers gracing her.

“Shit!” Everil screamed as she willed herself to go faster, moving out of its reach.

Frustrated, the familiar growled and leaped forth, arms outstretched.

“Watch out!” Niall cried out, throwing her out of its way. It tackled him instead, knocking him onto his back and pinning him to the ground. 

“Niall!” Everil picked herself up, watching as her demonic father growled viciously from atop her rescuer. He foamed at the mouth as if he were a rabid dog, ready to devour the mage as he struggled beneath him. 

“Damn you for making me do this!” she screamed and swung a leg, kicking him hard on the jaw and knocking him off the mage. She reached down and grabbed him by the front of his robe, pulling him to his feet. “Come on!” 

Taking his hand, she again broke into a near sprint, dragging him with her as he stumbled behind her. They burst through the foliage, dodging branches and jumping over roots, the background a blur in their desperate need to escape.

“Look for a mirror!” he yelled, the howls and growls of the creatures growing louder in spite of their efforts to outrun them. Just as he said this, a body-size mirror emerged from the trees, its surface rippling as if made of liquid. 

The demon playing her brother dashed from the side, sliding to a stop and blocking their advance. 

Everil halted, panting heavily. “Get out of my way!”

“You will not leave here, little sister,” it said mockingly, licking its lips. “You shall remain with us and bask in our love until our lord has finished feasting.”

“Sorry, but I have important business to attend to.” She lifted her chin with pride. “Now, move aside. I don’t care if you look like my brother, I will run right through you!”

“I'll make it move!” her companion cast a spell, unleashing a wave of flames upon their obstacle. The creature howled, its clothes burning up along with its facade. 

Everil and Niall didn't linger, darting by it and into the mirror without looking back. But they were too slow. The demons reached through the glass and took hold of the mage, their fingers digging into his flesh as he screamed.

“No!” she held onto his arm with both hands, fighting against the things clawing at him from behind. But they were far stronger than her, threatening to drag them both back into her dream as her feet slid over the floor.

“It's… too late for me! Only you… can defeat Sloth now!” Niall yelled in agony as blood poured from his wounds, and he shoved her away from him, forcing her to release him. “Please save my Circle!” 

“Niall!” Everil called to him as he was taken out of her reach. She ran up and pounded her fist against the glass, finding it sealed shut. “Damn it, you bastards!” she bit out, pressing her forehead against the polished surface. That man had just sacrificed himself to save her and there was nothing she could do to help him. 

Swallowing, she moved back, hearing the chime of her hauberk and feeling its familiar weight. She gazed at herself, seeing her Grey Warden armor, as well as both the sword and dagger at her hips, and bow and arrows at her back.

“You son of a bitch…” she muttered angrily, craning her head back to stare at the hazy, yellow sky swirling above her. “I swear to you, I'll make you pay for this!”

There was no answer, save for some far away wails that reached her ears. She surveyed her surroundings, listening to them echo around her in a choir of suffering and misery. The world she was in was dark and distorted, floating rocks and flowing amber clouds casting the landscape in permanent twilight. She stood on one of the rocks—a wide island in a sea of many more that spread out for as far as her eyes could see. 

_ So this is the Fade… _ Everil thought worriedly, silently hoping her real family was not truly within this place. Though it seemed this side of the realm belonged to Sloth alone.

Her gaze shifted to her right, landing on another mirror a distance away. It was leaning against a pillar at the other end of the platform, its surface glimmering under the golden glow of the skies. She pressed her lips into a focused line and went to stand before it, expecting to see her own reflection. Only someone else appeared over it, her gentle blue eyes peering back at her.

“Wynne?” she whispered, scrutinizing the reflection. Her hand slowly reached for her, the mirror rippling under her touch. If her companions were within these portals, then they were probably dreaming too. She had to save them and leave this dreadful place. Somehow.

  
⚜⚜⚜⚜   
  


Everil warily crossed to the other side, entering a room similar in appearance to another they’d previously explored in the Circle Tower. It was a giant library, lined wall to wall with books as a great chandelier shone from above. The scent of paper and ink touched her nostrils, sans the smell of blood that had saturated the air in the mortal realm. She wandered around the bookshelves separating the area into sections, seeing young mages studying or casting spells as she went.

“Hold the flame still. You need to control your power without fear.” Wynne was standing a distance away, gently instructing a child struggling to hold together a ball of fire between his small hands. Other children stood by, watching intently. 

The boy’s control seemed to waver for a moment, his nerves disrupting his focus. He released a small cry when the flame burned his finger, shattering what was left of his concentration. The fire grew larger, drawing energy from his fear until the old mage stepped closer and her hands hovered over his. 

Slowly, he grew calmer, causing the fire to stabilize. A sigh of relief escaped him and he gazed up at her, admiration in his eyes.

She smiled gently in return. “See? I am only helping you remain calm. If you conquer your fear, you will control your magic. Mind over matter.”

“Wynne.”

Her head spun towards the Grey Warden. “Huh? Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Everil stepped closer, cautiously regarding her. “You don’t remember me?”

“No. I cannot say that I can.” Wynne’s expression turned to irritation as she faced her. “Why are you here? Can’t you see I am in the middle of a lesson?”

_ Maker's breath... Why can't anything ever be easy?  _ Everil sighed inwardly. It seemed they would be just as enthralled by Sloth as she was. Which meant she would need to wake them up to tear them away from its grasp. “All right…” she began, speaking slowly. “You have to listen to me now. These children of yours are not what they appear.”

“What?” Wynne sent her a defiant glare, grabbing her staff from behind her back while shielding her charges with her body. “What are you talking about, stranger?”

The Warden raised her hands in front of her. “I'm saying that we're in the Fade. A demon has trapped us all here with it.”

“Ridiculous. Now, away with you, girl! I have much teaching to do.”

“Fine…” Everil huffed. “But before I go, just tell me one thing. Do you remember what you were doing before you came here?”

Wynne raised an eyebrow. “Why does that matter?”

“Just… think back for just a minute.”

“All right... If it so pleases you,” Wynne uttered irritably and paused. After a second, she pinched the bridge of her nose, brow tense in concentration. She shook her head. “It's... fuzzy. I cannot remember what I was doing before I came into this room.”

“Do you recall the abomination? Or the attack on the Circle?” Everil probed further.

Realization dawned on her as the memories were unlocked from deep inside her mind. Wynne’s mouth hung open as she breathed out the words. “The Circle… We were trying to save it.”

“That’s right. You were helping me try to retake it when we were captured.”

“Oh, Maker…” Horror soon followed as Wynne tightened her grip on the staff. “We must hurry and leave this place!”

“Wynne?” One of the children grew nearer, reaching pleadingly. “Please don't leave us... We need you.”

The old woman appeared to falter, gazing at their innocent faces with conflict in her eyes. But she caught herself and swatted his hand away. “Begone, demon! I have no interest in playing your games!”

Seeing their illusion broken drew out their malicious expressions, their features twisted into sneers. They closed in with inhuman speed, snapping into place around the two women. Sharp claws burst from their fingers, their staves clattering on the floor before a gust of wind extinguished the chandelier, plunging everything into darkness.

“Stand back…” Everil pulled the old woman behind her and drew her sword. She glared at the small creatures, preparing herself to fight them, the light coming from their demonic eyes their only light source.

_ “Die!”  _ They shrieked, all attacking at once in a sudden burst of speed. 

The Warden leaned sideways, dodging one's jumping strike. It flew past her and she spun, swinging her blade around to slash open its back. It screamed and fell, then her hand shot out as another struck, catching its wrist before delivering a swift kick to its stomach. The demon-child fell onto his rear and screeched just as her blade cut through its head as if it were a melon.

She yanked it, crimson gushing out of its wound just as two more closed in from opposite sides, trying to flank her. One went for her neck, but she struck at its claws, deflecting the hit before sweeping the other's feet from underneath it. Elethea swooshed in an arch as her wielder bolted up, the edge slicing through both creatures.

The last one charged with a vicious roar, leaping high in the air in an attempt to surprise her from behind. In one fluid motion, Everil drew her dagger and spun as she flung it, hitting the mark. It dropped to the ground, flailed, kicked, and screamed until it moved no more. She took a step and her hand came down to grasp the dagger, plucking it with a sickening crack.

She swung her blades clean and turned to Wynne, sheathing them. “Let’s go. We still have to help the others.”

Wynne nodded shakily, her gaze lingering over the bodies.

The two of them made for the direction of the mirror, but the mage halted mid-step. She stared at her fearfully, her voice shaking. “W-Wait… What's happening?” 

Everil ran to her companion as she began to slowly vanish before her eyes. She reached for her, fingers going through her. “Wynne!”

But she disappeared, vanishing into nothingness.

She cursed under her breath, frantically searching the now dissipating room as a laughing voice surrounded her.  _ “You may have released one of them, but I hold three yet. What will you do now, Grey Warden?” _

“It’s quite simple, really!” she snapped angrily at the darkness, the scenery around her continuing to blur like a painting underwater. “I’m going to save the others and then I'm going to kill you!”

It cackled in amusement at her threat.  _ “We shall see...” _

Hands closed into fists, Everil stalked back towards the way out, leaving the pitch-black world behind. The portal returned her to the same piece of rock from before while another appeared nearby. She didn’t wait, her feet already moving toward it as Morrigan’s image rippled over the polished glass.

  
⚜⚜⚜⚜   
  


“Will you cease the charade, demon? I have already told you that I will not be fooled. Now, away with you!” Morrigan’s distant voice reached Everil’s ears as she trekked through the thick bushes of the Korcari Wilds. Her hands parted the brush as her feet walked over the thick roots, following the familiar path to the witch’s hut. 

It didn’t take long for her to reach the clearing, eyes spotting the fire at its center. A pot of stew bubbled over it just as it had before, though there was no scent coming out of it. And just a few steps from it was her companion, glaring daggers at her weazened mother as they bickered.

“Such rebellious tongue…” Flemeth glowered at her daughter, amber eyes turning to slits. “You would disrespect your mother in such a way?”

“You are not my mother, vile creature!” Morrigan retorted, curling her nose at her. “You are nothing but a pathetic little imp enslaved by your master. Leave me be!”

A loud slap echoed as the old hag struck her across the face, nearly knocking her over.

Morrigan blinked a few times, colors swimming in her vision, head still turned to the side from the hit. It took a moment for her brain to register what had just transpired, unable to rationalize the sheer gall of the creature. She touched the red mark on her cheek, then very slowly, returned her cat-like eyes to it, casting upon it a deadly glare. “I give you this… That is far more like my mother…”

“Well, that was awkward,” Everil muttered from where she stood with her arms crossed, interrupting the two.

“You!” Morrigan’s head snapped in her direction. “You're finally here! Kill this thing before it drives me mad!”

“All right, all right… I’m working on it.” She released a breath and unsheathed her sword, aiming it at the fake Flemeth. “Sorry, but you heard the lady. She’s coming with me.”

A wicked smile split its haggard face as it shifted its attention to the newcomer.  _ “You may have managed to kill some of the others, but you will not defeat us. This meal belongs to our master!”  _

It released an inhuman shrill and darted forth, claws extended and ready to swipe. It struck air as Everil ducked, then she brought her blade up, swinging at it. It deflected her strike one-handed, then slashed again, giving her barely enough time to block. Claws and blade met with a loud clank, this one's skill greater than her previous foes. 

She gritted her teeth, struggling against its strength as the creature leaned forward, its crazed, red eyes staring into her own. It snarled and then its mouth shot open disturbingly wide, releasing another ear-splitting screech that drilled its way into her brain. Everil winced at the sharp pain, losing her focus before her blade was shoved aside and the hag tackled her. She landed hard on her back, reaching for its hand as it tried to claw at her.

“Damn it!” Everil bit out, trying to attack with her sword, yet finding her arm immobilized by the monster’s iron grip.

A spark of lightning shot, striking it on the back and weakening its hold on her. Everil took the chance, thrusting her sword upwards, piercing through the jaw and out the top of its head. It twitched as its blood sprayed over her, then yanked out her weapon, letting the creature drop to the ground beside her.

“Thanks for the help…” she grunted while rolling and rising to her feet with effort. She grimaced, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

Morrigan crossed her arms, looking her over. “No, you have my thanks. I could not kill it myself because of the demon's ability to manipulate my dream. I imagine you had a similar problem.”

“Yes, but I was nearly swallowed up by it. It was using my family’s memory to try to keep me in.”

“I see…” The witch didn’t miss the pain-stricken look that flashed over the other woman’s features, yet chose to say nothing about it. “How did you escape it?”

“Niall helped me,” Everil answered while sheathing her blades.

“The mage?”

“Yes.” She approached her, glancing at the corpse. “What was this one trying to show you?”

“I do not know myself.” She shrugged with disinterest. “I do not believe I gave it much room for creativity since I possess no unrealistic desires to exploit. I accept things as they are and make my destiny with my own hands.”

“Oh… Well, I suppose that's a good way to be.”

“‘Tis the only way to be… Now, shall we go hunt down this demon and—huh?” Morrigan paused, giving her a surprised look. “What is happening? Why are you see-through?”

“Oh, damn it...” Everil reached out as yet another companion slowly vanished from her view, leaving her alone once more.

Her arms fell to her sides, hands closing into fists as she stared at the now empty spot, trying to figure out what it all meant. She hadn’t awakened yet, so the demon likely had a stronger hold on her than it did on her friends. That, or it was somehow using her connection to them to imprison them. 

_ Does this mean that I have to do all of this on my own?  _

Her annoyed glare went to the mirror in the distance, seeing it ripple as if calling to her. Determination promptly replaced her irritation and she headed back on confident strides. “Fine... If this is how you wish to play, then I will play. But I assure you, creature… you will be the one to lose at your own game.” 

Evil laughter filled her mind in response as the rickety old hut and the woods around her began to fade. The Grey Warden exited through the portal, blackness swallowing up the dream world at her back.   
  



	17. Awakening from Nightmares

⚜

  
  


_ E _ _ veril curiously observed the third  _ mirror. A small boy with tousled, blond hair was staring back at her through large honey-brown eyes, rosy cheeks dusted with dirt. He wore a soft blue, long-sleeved tunic and brown breeches, all also lightly covered in soil. She couldn't recognize him, but something told her she knew who he was. Still unsure, she entered the portal, walking into another dream within the realm.

She emerged in a bedroom with a child’s bed off to one side, a nightstand next to it, bookshelves on the walls, and furs on the ground for decoration. The youngster she saw in the reflection sat on the floor with his back to her, playing with tiny wooden soldiers. He talked to himself, making sword noises with his mouth while clashing the figures together in a pretend battle.

“Hello?” she called to him, taking a tentative step. But there was no reply. 

Everil got closer until she was standing behind him, then got on one knee to cautiously reach out, seeking to touch his shoulder. She blinked in confusion when her hand went through him. As if she were the dream this time and not the other way around.

A low growl was heard, causing her to pull away in surprise.

“Ah… I’m hungry,” he muttered to himself before setting his toys down and rising to his feet. He dusted off his clothes, unsuccessfully patting the dirt off his pants. Then he gave his nose a little rub before spinning around to face her, his gaze briefly meeting hers.

Her eyebrows knitted. There was something familiar about his appearance, but she couldn’t quite place it.  _ Am I in a little mage’s dream? Did Sloth trap a child too? _

He headed for the door and exited his room, shuffling over the fine carpet decorating the hallway. She stood and followed, uncertain of what was happening, but intent on finding out. Her eyes scanned their surroundings as they walked, the statues of dogs and the paintings of grassy fields telling her it was a Fereldan homestead. 

The home was great in size however, obviously a castle. A faint smell of fish blew through a window they passed by, the scent immediately revealing to her where she was. It was Redcliffe Castle, only without the bloodstains and gore along the halls. 

They descended a set of stairs as he held onto the rail, carefully climbing down each step. He was humming to himself, his voice so innocent she couldn’t help but to smile in spite of her circumstances. The two of them eventually reached another hallway, passing by familiar sets of decorative armor along the way. They were crossing the passage by the great hall when a conversation echoing from within halted his steps. He turned to the arched doorway and took careful steps to peer through it. Everil did the same, standing next to him to look inside the room.

“I know it has not been long since the war, Your Majesty. But I love her, and you can trust I would never put Ferelden at risk of another invasion.”

“I do trust you, Eamon. It's not I who questions your judgment, but the people. Their wounds are still fresh.”

The edged closer to the doorway while Everil did the same, standing above him as they both peered inside. A tall man clad in a white gambeson came into view, the garb accented with rich brown leather and golden buckles. Long hair the color of barley fell elegantly over wide shoulders as a rich purple cloak flowed down his back, its color sharp against the drab grey of the walls. An elaborate sword plated in gold was strapped to the man’s hip, glimmering with the glow of the hearth warming the room. And while a young man was standing beside him, her stunned gaze remained focused on him. And while a young man was standing beside him, her stunned gaze remained focused on him. 

He needed no literal crown for her to know who he was. 

“King Maric?” she whispered, staring in awe at his handsome profile.

At that moment, the king’s annoyed blue eyes shifted in her direction. Everil slammed her mouth shut, thinking that perhaps he’d heard her call his name. But his gaze instead fell on the child beside her, his features immediately softening upon seeing him. A kind smile spread over his lips as he spoke in a gentler voice, “Alistair?”

Her head snapped down to him, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Of course, it was him. How could she have missed those beautiful eyes of his? A grin spread over her face at how adorable he looked. With those puffy, dirt-streaked cheeks and messy blond hair.

“It’s all right...” Maric continued, releasing a light chuckle. “Come closer. I promise I won’t bite.”

Alistair gripped the hem of his tunic and did as he was told.

_ But why am I seeing all this? Is this his dream or a memory? _ Puzzlement creased her brow as she watched him timidly step inside. She stayed by the doorway as he walked to stand next to a bearded, older man she recognized as the arl of Redcliffe before bowing respectfully to his monarch.

“You have grown much since I last saw you…” The king’s voice carried a bit of sadness as he regarded the boy, mixed in with a hint of pride. “You are almost a man now.”

“Th-Thank you, sire,” Alistair replied, still too shy to look him in the eyes.

“He’s being trained in sword fighting already. And I try to educate him in both history and politics,” Eamon said, placing a hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “He’s quite smart when he sets his mind to it. Though he prefers playing in the fields or in the village. Oftentimes, I have to chase him throughout the castle just to get him to sit still long enough to listen to my lectures.”

“Yes, that… sounds familiar.” Maric smiled wistfully. As if thinking back to his own childhood memories. But instead of saying so, he grinned and smacked the shoulder of the older boy standing beside him, this one a tall teenager. “Cailan here is the same way, too. Not a day goes by that Loghain doesn’t come to me with complaints about my son’s constant efforts to avoid his lessons. Quite rebellious, this one.”

“Father…” he muttered in irritation, his face turning a shade of red.

“King Cailan...” Everil whispered, observing him from afar. He didn’t have the long hair from before he passed, but his features were the same. And as she watched the three standing in the same room, she realized how glaringly obvious it was that Alistair was King Maric’s son. 

_ Did he know this at this point? _ The innocent look in his eyes as he regarded his father told her otherwise.  _ Arl Eamon must have been waiting for the right time to tell him. Perhaps when he was older. _

A strange pull suddenly drew her eyes to a room at the far end of the passage, faint whispers beckoning her. She stared at it in puzzlement.  _ What’s this feeling? Is that where I need to go now? _

Everil gave the great hall one last glance before warily approaching the door and reaching for the handle. She opened it, slowly looking around it to see what lay behind. It appeared to be the same room Alistair had been playing in before, only slightly changed. She entered, and this time, the door vanished behind her, leaving a wall in its place.

“No!”

“Alistair, please... This is for your own good,” Arl Eamon tried to appease the raging child pacing before him. 

“But I don't want to go!” a slightly older Alistair protested, voice breaking in anger. “Don’t you care about me anymore?”

Eamon released a heavy sigh, following his movements. “Of course, I still care about you. I always will. However, your behavior has made it difficult to keep both you and Isolde under the same roof.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!” he yelled, a hand over his chest as bitter tears threatened to spill out of him. “It’s her fault! She's always blaming me for everything and treating me bad!” A sob rocked his body, his shoulders shaking. He clenched his jaw, glaring at the floor. “I hate her…”

“Alistair…” the arl warned.

“I hate her!” he snapped at him. “I hate her! I wish she would disappear!”

A resounding slap cut off the argument. Everil stared in shock as the boy fell on his rear, the arl's hand reverting to his side. Alistair’s astonished eyes slowly turned up to Eamon, betrayal tangible upon them as he shakily covered his burning cheek.

“I will... have the maids pack your things. You leave in the morning.” Arl Eamon turned away and trudged out of the room, shoulders visibly slumped while he hung his head in shame.

Now alone, Alistair heaved shakily, finally registering what happened. He growled, forcefully pushing himself up on unsteady legs. “I hate her!” he screamed at the door, then with an anguished cry, tore a silver pendant from around his neck and threw it against the wall. The impact shattered it to pieces, the silver bits glistening as they hit the ground.

_ This is… He was only ten… _ Everil heart twisted as she watched him crumble into a heap of misery and rage. She could only imagine how he felt. Abandoned at birth and then cast aside again by the only man he ever thought of as a father. 

She stepped closer and knelt as he wept, reaching for him in an attempt to console him. But in spite of her burning desire to hug him. To tell him everything would be all right. Her arms again went through him. This was yet another memory and there was nothing she could do for him now. 

As with the prior dreams, the room faded around her, taking with it the weeping child. Everil rose as the blackness was gradually replaced by white stone walls and mosaic windows, their glass shining colorfully with the sun’s rays. A tall ceiling hovered above, intricate chandeliers hanging from it in a perfect row. She swallowed the knot in her throat and willed herself to walk, wandering towards another door ahead as the urge to find the real Alistair drove her forward. 

Everil opened it, crossing into what appeared to be a chamber of prayer. Statues of women dressed in Chantry vestments gazed upon her from each side, their hands clasped together in a silent chant. She could only assume they were past Divines, chosen leaders of the Chantry, immortalized in stone.

She headed further through the long hallway until she spotted the same child at the end. He was kneeling under a statue of Andraste, a candle slowly burning away in front of him. A familiar figure walked up to him, the Grey Warden armor glimmering brightly under the light as if he himself were holy. Behind the man was a woman of old age, the elaborate robes showing her status of Revered Mother. 

The scene made little sense to her at first. Alistair mentioned Duncan recruited him just six months before they met. However, this version of him was but a child. It had to be Sloth's doing. Perhaps his way of making him feel powerless inside his own dream. 

“You can’t take him with you. He was given into the service of the Chantry by the Arl of Redcliffe,” the Revered Mother barked at Duncan, unfazed by the man’s imposing form. “Being a Templar is his chosen duty. The Maker demands it so.”

The Warden-Commander shook his head and gestured towards Alistair. “Look at him, Your Holiness. The boy is miserable here. He does not wish for this life.”

Disembodied whispers filled the room. There was malice in the words they spoke and in their occasional laughter. Undoubtedly more of the demon’s work. Though, some of the wickedness came from human nature itself.

_ “Who does he think he is?” _

_ “He’s the arl’s bastard son, that’s who he is. A half-bred mabari has better blood than he does.” _

_ “Pathetic! Stop crying already! Just because your dad’s a noble doesn’t mean you’re special.” _

_ Was this what he used to hear others say about him? _ Everil wondered with knitted eyebrows, sadly observing her fellow Warden's past self from a distance. 

Alistair’s lively attitude was non-existent as he knelt there, head down in a defeated posture. He’d once told her that he hated being in the monastery, now she could clearly see why. None of this had been his choice, yet he was forced to endure the cruelty of those around him with no one to shield him. With no one to protect him or comfort him.

“He's a strong warrior and wishes to join us,” Duncan insisted. “He'll be of good use to the Grey Wardens. Let me recruit him.”

“Absolutely not,” the Revered Mother answered stubbornly, standing her ground.

“Then you leave me no choice…” He crossed his arms, meeting her glare with chilling eyes. “I hereby conscript Alistair into the Grey Wardens. He is mine to take now. We leave immediately.”

“How dare you!” The woman’s enraged voice resonated inside the room. “I should send my Templars after you for your transgression!”

“But you won't, for you are bound to comply with our Right of Conscription by King Maric’s decree. Please do not interfere in our sacred duty to protect Ferelden from the darkspawn.” He turned his back to her and approached Alistair as she glared daggers at the back of his head. She clenched her jaw and spun around, stalking away.

Duncan ignored her, offering a hand to his new recruit instead. “Come.”

Alistair gazed up at him in wonder, tentatively taking his hand. 

Everil’s stare saddened as she watched the two of them. Seeing Duncan and getting recruited by him must have felt like a blessing to him. An opportunity to become part of something important when he had no prior purpose before.

The same, strange pull again tugged at her being, causing her to look towards another door at the side of the chamber. It opened on its own for her, silently demanding her presence. Her feet moved towards it, responding to its summons. 

Everil found herself in an old fortress when she finally walked through. It was slightly worn from ages of exposure, yet still grand and imposing. Tall griffon statues lined her path, flaming torches burning between them while illuminating the hall that stretched out before her. She looked ahead, seeing two shapes in the distance. Her eyes regarded them with suspicion as she went to them, her footsteps unusually loud in the wide chamber.

She came to a stop before the two figures, hands closing tightly. The child form of Alistair was standing next to Duncan, blankly staring off into space. He wore only a plain white tunic, his small form much more vulnerable than that of the Alistair she remembered.

“Ah, you've arrived,” greeted the late Warden-Commander. “Welcome to Weisshaupt Fortress, the Grey Warden’s primary headquarters in the Anderfels. Thank you for joining us as we prepare to celebrate our victory against the darkspawn.”

“What are you talking about?” Everil questioned moodily, already aware that this was not her late mentor.

“Alistair has helped our order eradicate the darkspawn. He followed me and the other Wardens as we invaded the deep roads and set their underground lairs ablaze,” he spoke with blatant pride, a smile over his bearded face. “They are no longer a threat to humanity. Ferelden is safe. And we will live on in peace, just us brothers and sisters.”

“Lies... Just as all the others before. None of what you said is possible. The darkspawn have controlled the Deep Roads since the first Blight. There is no way to eradicate them all.” She gave the familiar a dirty look and reached for the boy. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be taking my friend now.”

The fake Duncan smacked her hand away, his kind gaze turning murderous.

“Let him go,” Everil demanded, meeting his glare with one of her own.

“His Templar mind has allowed me to take complete control of his memories and desires. He wishes for a loving family… The one he never had.” He put on a wicked, uncharacteristic grin. “I have given this to him and he is happy here. You wouldn’t dare take his happiness away, would you?”

“This happiness you offer isn't real…” She glowered at him, drawing her blades. “Now, release him this instant!”

“No, mortal. The Templar’s soul belongs to my lord,” Duncan drew his sword and dagger, his voice distorted by an evil one beneath. “And you shall be punished for your interference!”

He lunged at her, letting out a monstrous roar. Everil blocked his sword, parried it away, and thrust. He rolled sideways and onto a knee, swiftly striking upwards. A clank was heard as she struck at it at the last second, backing away from him as he shot up, leading with his dagger. 

She sidestepped, evading him before spinning on one foot and bringing Elethea around to the back of his neck. He reached back and blocked with his blade without facing her, then whirled about, striking at her. Sword and dagger clashed, the hit forcing her away several steps, the strength of his hit breaking her defenses. The fake Duncan then slashed, scratching her breastplate while she retreated, clicking her tongue in annoyance at how close he’d gotten to cut her.

He laughed at her, glowing red eyes filled with mirth. “I am not like the others you fought, Warden. I am Sloth's most powerful servant. An extension of my master. As such, I can use your minds and emulate anything and anyone.” He glanced briefly towards Alistair, chuckling darkly. “Your friend's memories tell me exactly how this Duncan fought. And it appears that you were inferior to him.”

“You're still nothing but a copy,” Everil countered, flipping her dagger before dropping into her battle stance once more. “You can never be as great as he was!” 

She shot forth, crying out while going for a downward slash. A clash sounded out like a mighty clap of thunder when her sword connected with his. Their blades met again, and again, the clashes resonating in a violent storm inside the grand hall. 

Anger was all she could feel towards this creature and its master as they battled for dominance. How dare Sloth toy with her and her friends? How dare he use their emotions, their loved ones, and their memories against them?

A cry escaped her as she brought her blades down upon him, swinging with all her might. The familiar grunted as he blocked and their weapons were locked once again. He shoved against her, throwing her off balance and following through with a horizontal slash. But she was faster this time and crouched, dodging the attack while swiping at his feet with a kick.

Duncan leaped and landed a few feet away, laughing hoarsely at her inferiority. “Give up, girl! You cannot defeat me!”

“Shut up and die!” She rushed at him, flipping her sword backward while sprinting at full speed.

He growled and swung in a low sideward strike as she came, but Everil dropped to her knees and slid, his sword slicing a few hairs from the top of her head. She brought her reversed blade with her in a wide-arched slash, her body drifting over the floor as she used her momentum to cut through. 

The demon shrieked in agony as light poured from its open wound. Then its body exploded, bursting into a green fog that spread and steadily dissipated. Its screams died out along with it, leaving nothing behind. 

Everil got on her feet, panting heavily while glaring at the now empty spot. She released a heavy breath and solemnly sheathed both weapons. “Let the dead rest in peace…”

“Alone…”

A sad voice drew her attention to the child, who was gazing at her with an anguished expression. “I’m… all alone," he choked out, hunched over as if the pain were weighing him down. “Why couldn’t I have a family like everyone else?”

“Alistair…” she called softly, going to him and seeing he wasn’t waking up.  _ What’s happening…? _

_ “He is mine, Grey Warden.”  _ Sloth's voice spoke to her again, invading her thoughts.  _ “You cannot save him, for his own self-pity keeps him within my grasp.” _

“What...?” Her heart dropped like a brick at the demon’s words. “No...”

“Why does it have to be this way?” the child whimpered, rubbing tears from his flushed cheeks as they continued to flow in an endless waterfall. “I'm the bastard nobody wants! The bastard no one gives a damn about!”

Each sob that escaped him brought heartache to her chest. She couldn’t stand seeing him this vulnerable. This broken and alone. She had to save him. She had to break him free no matter the cost.

“It’s all right…” Her arms encircled his smaller frame, and this time, she was able to draw him to her. “I’m here…”

In spite of her words, Alistair didn’t seem to register her presence, his arms still limp at his sides. He continued to wallow in his own misery, his voice drenched in self-loathing as he sobbed uncontrollably into her shoulder. “I’m all alone… All the people... I knew rejected me. Cast me... away as if I didn't matter.”

“No…” she whispered, gently stroking his back. “I realize this was real once before, but it’s not anymore. Sloth is making you feel these things to keep you trapped. You need to wake up.”

_ “You are nothing, Alistair.”  _ The demon returned, his voice this time echoing inside the hall as he pulled on the strings in the boy’s mind.  _ “You are nothing but an unwanted child left to be forgotten. No one cares about you. Not even your own father!” _

“Nobody cares...” the child repeated brokenly. “Everyone abandons me…”

“No!” Everil interjected. “There are people who do care. This thing is ly—”

_ “You are meaningless. Useless!” _

“I am useless…”

“Don’t listen to him!” She closed her eyes firmly, holding him tighter. “You are not—”

_ “You should have died instead of Duncan!” _

“Duncan… Oh, Duncan...!” Alistair released a grief-stricken wail. “Ferelden would’ve been better off if you’d lived instead of me!”

“Stop it! Stop it, that’s not true!” Everil fiercely shook her head, tears threatening to spill out of her. “I needed you, damn it! I don’t know what I would’ve done had you not been there with me when all of this began!” Her voice shook with emotion, her words an open confession she prayed for him to hear. “You’re my friend and I care about you! I care about you too damn much to ever leave you as others did! So, please… Please break free of this bastard’s hold and come back to me, Alistair!” 

At that moment, he froze and the crying ceased.

Seconds ticked as time seemed to drag around them.

Then a powerful wind surged upwards from beneath them, drawing a gasp out of her. It enveloped them like a vortex, causing her to grip his clothes out of both fear and desperation. Maker, she didn’t want to lose him too. She couldn’t let that cursed thing take him as her family was ripped away from her. 

The howling and churning whirlwind continued for a moment too long, rising up to the skies. And then as quickly as it came, it was gone. Everything went silent once more. Yet in spite of the calm, she wouldn’t dare look.

Until a pair of strong arms enveloped her.

“Everil…”

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of his much deeper voice. With an anxious frown, she hesitantly pulled away to finally meet the gentle stare of the Alistair she knew. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him, seeing him now as a man, clad in his shining, Grey Warden armor. 

“I heard every word...” he murmured, his lips spreading into a weak smile. “Thank you…”

Her heart was jumping with both relief and excitement when she boldly hugged him again. She pressed her cheek to his broad chest, relishing the feeling of the cool steel against her skin. Maker, she could touch him. She could hear him! This was the real him!

“Woah…” He blinked and chuckled a little before slowly returning her embrace. “You know, I could get used to this sort of greeting.”

“Are you all right...?” Everil whispered, ignoring his jest this time as she clung to his cloak.

“Yeah…” He rested his chin atop her head, his expression softening upon hearing the concern in her tone. “I’m fine… Though, to be honest, I’d feel a lot better if we got out of here.”

She sighed. “I agree… But it looks like you’ll be going back ahead of me.”

“Huh?” Alistair withdrew enough to look at her, seeing the world around them was beginning to vanish along with her. She had a brave smile on her face, which only unnerved him even more. “Wait…” he called, dread gripping his chest. “What’s happening?”

“I’ll meet you out there soon. Just wait for me,” she assured him, stepping out of his arms to wink at him. 

But her words did little to reassure him as everything turned to black, her form also disappearing before his eyes.   
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜   
  


Everil stood before the last mirror, one she saw was for her hound by his reflection gazing up at her. She stepped through it and was greeted by an all too familiar room. Straw dolls lay forgotten on the furs covering the floor as violet drapes hung from the windows, the moonlight filtering through giving them a pinkish hue. It was her childhood room. Her world before swords and battle drove her away from the frivolous things most noble girls enjoyed.

A slight whine drew her eyes towards her old bed, where a young girl still slept soundly.

Bjorn sat protectively at the foot of the bed, guarding the child.

“Hi, boy…” Everil stepped closer, smiling lovingly at him.

His ears perked up as he gazed at her, curiously cocking his head to the side.

She knelt before him, her fingers reaching to scratch behind his ears. “I get it… You’re happiest when you’re protecting me.”

He nuzzled her palm, his adoring gaze still over her. This was the human he knew. The one he would protect, no matter the cost. The Sloth creature had tried to trick him. To break his will and drive him into believing its lies. But although he’d sought to keep the child on the bed safe, he knew the real one would come for him. 

The Warden’s smile widened. This mabari hound had been her companion since both of them were but pups. He was her partner in crime. Her confidant. No one could ever get between them. Not even a powerful demon. 

She wrapped her arms around him, stroking the back of his head. “Thank you, Bjorn. You've always been there for me. I love you, boy.”

Bjorn gave her a soft lick on the cheek, whining lightly as he began to vanish. He snuggled closer to her, clinging to her for as long as he could. Whatever was happening was not good. He wanted to stay with her. To shield her from whatever evil was keeping them in this place.

“Don’t worry... I’ll be right behind you,” she whispered reassuringly at him. “Just keep the party company for me.”

One last whine escaped him and he was gone.

Everil rose to her feet. She now had to find her own way out, but first, there was a score to settle.

_ “Quite impressive, mortal. But while you have taken away my meals, your soul will surely be the most delicious.” _ Sloth chuckled darkly, the rough edges of his voice scratching at her mind.  _ “I will enjoy hearing your screams as I devour you from the inside. Slowly. Until an empty shell is all that’s left of you.” _

The Warden ignored it, determination set upon her features as she made her way out of her hound’s dream. 

A large mirror dominated the center of the platform now, rising above her while beckoning for her to enter it. She stepped closer, eyeing the dark, rippling surface as its presence reached into her chest and squeezed. Any demon with the ability to create dreams, alter memories, and trap people in its own personal playground would surely be a force to be reckoned with. But in spite of her fear, she would face this creature and make it pay for meddling with their minds.

Everil set her jaw and stepped through the portal.

The world on the other side was barren and cold, with spires of bone and rock all around. It was another island floating in a void, the swirling clouds endlessly brushing against it. She shivered involuntarily, her feet crunching over the rock as she trekked towards the center of the island. An archway emerged in her path, leading to what appeared to be the ruins of an old temple. 

She entered and her gaze immediately fell upon the being waiting for her inside.

“You should have submitted yourself to me,” it spoke through a permanent grin over its ashen face, its robes flowing around it as it hovered menacingly over the ground. It lacked a nose, lips, and ears, while its eyes were also covered by a cloth. Yet although there were no expressions visible, Everil could hear the sneer in its voice. “You would have remained happy instead of dying like this. I could have offered you eternal bliss.”

“Oh, I will feel bliss, all right...” The Warden drew her blade and aimed it at the demon, hiding her trepidation behind her anger. “When I end your miserable existence!”

Sloth cackled in amusement at her threat, rotating his shoulders. “I will so enjoy this...”

Everil circled him, measuring him up while pulling out her dagger. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned over him. He was something from another realm, but everything had a weakness. He would die just like any other enemy.

“Come!” he roared.

And she did, kicking forth with a cry of her own. She swung Elethea, but he easily dodged, floating sideways like a specter. He slashed at her with his claws, aiming for her head. She struck upwards, deflecting the hit. Then Sloth swung again, making her duck to avoid the attack. She came up swinging with her sword, going for the creature’s neck, only for him to easily catch the blade and stop her in her tracks.

Everil clenched her teeth, her arm shaking as she struggled to pull her weapon free of his grasp. But he only chuckled darkly, unconcerned by the blood dripping from his hand. “You are nothing!” He picked her up and flung her as if she were weightless, sending her soaring a few feet. She landed hard, tumbling over the ground and nearly losing her weapons. 

“Ugh, blast…” she grunted, pushing herself up on her hands and knees while the demon began to summon its magic. 

He raised his arms, bringing about a gust of wind that began to swirl around it. “You die here, Warden!” Sloth roared, the gust quickly turning into a powerful blizzard.

_ Shit! _ Everil quickly rose and sprinted to a pile of rocks, leaping over it just as it froze behind her. Shards of ice began to form at the edges of her cover as the storm raged on, growing ever closer to her and threatening to freeze her. The frigid bite in the air caused her to quiver as she panted heavily, breathing out white smoke.

Sloth laughed. “This is my world, human! You will freeze no matter where you run!”

_ I have to do something…!  _ She bit her lip, running ideas through her head. Shivering violently, she shifted in her spot and looked over the edge. Her eyes focused on the direction in which the hale was blowing and she weighed her options. 

“Nothing you do will stop me!” Sloth roared, cackling madly. “When I’m done with you, I’ll move on to consume the rest of you mortals! Starting with your friends!”

Everil took a knee and sheathed her blades before drawing her bow. She licked her bluing lips, her joints beginning to ache as the cold pierced through her. Pushing through the pain, she got on her feet before hoisting herself up to stand atop the pile of rocks. The wind made her hair whip about as she drew an arrow with numbed fingers. She took aim.

“You truly think you can hit me with that?” he mocked.

Her eyes narrowed and she turned the tip of the arrow to the side, angling her shot. “Yep!”

She released the arrow, sending it flying through the storm. The current changed its course, diverting it towards the demon. It hit its mark and Sloth howled in pain, the blizzard instantly dispelling as his concentration was broken. She quickly put away her bow and drew her sword before hopping off her perch. The Warden charged, crossing the distance to the demon now gripping the arrow stuck in its chest.

Her sword penetrated flesh and blood gushed over her. She twisted her weapon, driving it further into his chest as Sloth released a wail of agony.

“N-No! H-How…!” He fell on his knees before her, shaking hands grabbing her blade.

“I hope that tasted good to you...” she hissed breathlessly and put her boot on him, shoving him off her sword and to the ground.

“Curse… you…” he croaked, crimson pooling beneath him as he wheezed.

Everil watched him die, swinging her weapon clean before sheathing it at her hip. It was finally over.

“Good work.”

Her head snapped to a male voice coming from above. He was floating down towards her, his robes swaying with an unnatural wind. His kind eyes were upon her, his body having no trace of the injuries he’d been inflicted before.

“Niall...” she called, surprised to see him.

He nodded, smiling a little. “You did what I could not. You broke free of Sloth's hold and defeated him in the process.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” She offered him a friendly grin of her own. “With the demon dead, I assume we’ll be waking up from this nightmare.”

“You will shortly… Me, on the other hand...” he trailed off and shook his head, sighing mournfully. “I will not be joining you.” 

Her brow creased. “What…? But I defeated Sloth...”

“I’m dying… Sloth used my life force to fuel your dreams. There is nearly nothing left of me... I can’t even reclaim my body in our own realm.”

“I’m… so sorry...” she whispered with downcast eyes, her heart heavy in her chest. This man saved her life and, in turn, had also saved her friends. And yet she was unable to do the same for him. It simply wasn’t fair.

“Don’t be…” A reassuring hand came to rest on her shoulder as he gazed at her, acceptance over his youthful features. “I was never meant to save the Circle. You, however, have proven to possess the strength to do so. When you awaken, take the Litany of Adralla from my body. Use it to save the Circle from Uldred and his blood mages. Make them pay for what they’ve done.”

“I will…” Her unwavering gaze met his. “You have my word.”

Niall offered her one last smile. “Thank you… Goodbye… my friend.”

Their bodies vanished, the world around them slowly fading away. And then there was darkness.   
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜   
  


“I think she’s waking up.”

“'Tis about time.”

“Oh, thank the Maker... The poor child.”

The voices sounded muffled to her ears at first. Almost far away. And yet Everil already knew to whom they belonged. Consciousness came to her slowly and she became aware of the strong arm holding her, as well as of the cold, hard floor pressing against her hip. Her eyes cracked open and she squinted as Alistair’s relieved features gradually came into focus.

“Hi…” she greeted him, smiling groggily.

“Hey, sleepyhead…” he quietly replied, then a playful grin spread over his face. “Welcome back to the Blight.”

“Thanks... Still better than the Fade, though.” She groaned lightly as he helped her sit up, her hand coming to rest over her aching head. “Is the abomination dead at least?”

“It is,” Wynne replied from beside Alistair, gesturing to the downed creature. “You did well. Though, we were concerned about you. It took you a while to awaken.”

Bjorn agreed with a whine as he nuzzled her cheek. 

She gently petted him, scratching behind his ears. “I’m sorry I worried you all… That thing wasn’t easy to defeat.”

Everil huffed as she rose to her feet, then stepped over to Niall's body. A sad expression fell over her as she knelt beside it, gently retrieving the scroll from his frigid fingers. He sacrificed it all to give them this chance, and she wasn’t about to waste it. Sadness turned to unwavering resolve as she stood and regarded her companions. “Come on. It’s time to save the Circle.”


	18. Saving the Circle of Magi

⚜

  
  
  


_ T _ _ he party climbed up more _ stairs and entered another hall. A demonic scene greeted them as the corruption caused by the maleficarum bled into their world, overtaking everything it touched. More purple and red mounds of glowing flesh hung from the ceiling and clung to the walls and the floor, their rotten stench so pungent that breathing was almost unbearable. Severed limbs and burned bodies littered their path, their feet making a squelching noise as they trekked over the gore.

“Maker...” Wynne whimpered, nauseated by it all.

“It… It looks like this is where it all started…” Everil spoke softly and gulped, her own stomach twisting in protest to the offending odor. She was leading them cautiously down the rounded corridor, a hand on her weapon as they scanned the shadows for trouble. 

“Nothing they were hoping to gain is worth what they did here...” Alistair uttered from behind her, grimacing in disgust.

A strange, blood-curdling roar drifted from somewhere ahead, immediately halting them in their tracks. 

“What was that?” Morrigan asked hesitantly.

“Guess we'll have to go find out…” Everil resumed her steps, picking up the pace. 

They crossed the distance to the next set of doors, approaching them cautiously before pushing them open. A wide room lay beyond, lit up by a glowing barrier that was off to one side. And they all paused at what they found inside the see-through cage, horror falling upon the features of the two Wardens and the old mage, while behind them, Morrigan folded her arms with only a raised eyebrow to show her interest.

Multiple Templars lay in a pile of flesh and warped metal inside the barrier, so torn they could not tell where one body ended and another began. A single knight was kneeling on the floor next to the mountain of bodies, rocking back and forth while repeating the Chant of Light between quivering breaths. He looked to be in his early twenties, with blood and gore smeared over his blonde hair and silver armor.

Everil slowly approached him, trying not to startle him. “Hey...”

His head shot up, but as soon as his terrified eyes saw her, he tightly closed them. “No…” he choked out, furiously shaking his head. “I won’t fall for your tricks! You broke the others, but you will not break me!”

“Cullen?” Wynne called in a compassionate tone. “You poor boy... What have they done…?”

“Calm down. We’re not here to hurt you,” Everil quietly assured him.

“No! It won’t work! Begone demon! Leave me be!” he yelled, pressing his forehead to his clasped hands. Then he glared at her once more, seeing her still standing there in front of him with that pitying expression. He held his head, frustration evident on his features. “This used to work before... Why are you still here!”

She sighed softly. “Because I’m not a demon... Your Knight-Commander sent me. I came to help restore the Circle.”

“I... see...” He shakily rose to his feet, his demeanor still somewhat doubtful. “Knight-Commander... Greagoir?”

“Yes. He allowed us Wardens to seek out survivors and try to save you all.”

Cullen swallowed bitterly, turning slightly towards the corpses, yet unable to fully look in their direction. “It’s… It’s too late for them...” His words came as a trembling whisper, tangible grief over his fair face. The bags under his blue eyes and his sickly complexion seemed to age him, an indication of the many horrors he witnessed and how much mental torture he endured. 

“But it’s not too late for you.” Everil tried to offer him at least a sliver of hope. “How do we get you out of there?”

His haunted stare reverted to the Grey Warden, her words doing little to ease his pain. “The only way to dispel a barrier is to kill the caster... Uldred. He and his accomplices are at the top of those stairs. In the Harrowing chamber.”

She glanced towards the steps a distance away. A light was flashing between the cracks of the gates to the chamber as the corruption covering the room and the hallway behind them seemed to crawl out from the edges. She glanced up at him. “Is the First Enchanter with them?”

“He is, yes... Along with other senior mages. But I don’t know if they still live. They sound as if they're being tortured… or worse.” He hugged himself, trying in vain to keep from quivering as he stared at the doors. “Maker... The screams coming from there…!”

“All right, we'll return for you shortly,” Everil told the Templar, then looked over her shoulder to the others. “Let’s hurry. We have to save the First Enchanter or—”

“Wait...” Cullen interjected, brow creased in consternation. “Y-You seek to save the mages?” 

“We do,” she answered.

“You can’t!” His fist hit the barrier with a loud bang, drawing a surprised glare from her. “You have to kill every single mage in there!”

The Templar's reaction was expected, but still disturbing to her. As if the mages were nothing but monsters that needed to be slain. “No,” she refused, unwilling to think as he did. “If some yet live I have to save them. I won’t kill innocent people.”

“Innocent? Heh… You don’t know anything, do you?” He gripped at his hair and scratched his scalp as if spiders were crawling over him, speaking through gritted teeth. “Blood mages can control you… Their fingers slither into your mind and manipulate your thoughts as if you were nothing but a puppet! They can trick you into seeing whatever they want you to see! Into feeling things you'd never dare feel!” He blew a shuddering, broken breath. “They tore apart my friends one by one. Toyed with them. Tortured them and used them in sick, twisted games as I watched. I'm the only one left because somehow they couldn't break my will!”

He leaned closer, staring at her with crazed eyes. “All it takes is one… One blood mage to leave the tower and many more will die! You wouldn’t be able to tell the maleficarum apart from the rest... The best way to make sure no blood mage escapes is to kill everyone in that room!”

“He holds a lot of hatred towards mages now…" Alistair said sadly. “He won’t be able to think clearly for a while.”

“I know what I’m talking about!” Cullen protested, desperately shifting between them. “Please just listen to me!”

“These mages have also suffered. If I were to listen to you, then I wouldn’t be much better than those who killed your—”

“It’s because of them I’m telling you this! You’re about to risk letting a blood mage escape because of your misguided sympathy!”

“Which is my decision to make, not yours! And I will deal with the consequences if I must!”

“But—!”

“Come on. We've wasted enough time here,” she told the others, whirling about and ignoring any further protests from the Templar. Hasty strides led her to the stairs while her party followed close behind. 

“You'll regret this later!” Culled yelled from inside his prison, watching them disappear behind the doors. He clenched his teeth and hung his head with a miserable growl, fists trembling against the barrier.

  
⚜⚜⚜⚜   
  


A man’s agonizing screams erupted from above the spiral stairs to the Harrowing chamber. Their hearts raced as they panted for breath, the spark of magic draining all warmth from the air as the brightness of the spells being cast lit up the entire area. The Grey Wardens drew their weapons the moment they reached the top, entering a massive room bordered by pillars and illuminated by the blue flames of torches. Mosaic windows let in some moonlight, the combination of colors casting their surroundings in an ominous hue.

They took tentative steps, eyes over the butchered bodies of the mages who now lay dead on the floor, a terrified expression permanently etched upon their faces. Their gaze then trailed along the blood-stained floors, seeing more bodies and more gore, until they landed on the man responsible for it all. An abomination slowly rose from the ground at his feet, electric power circling it as it focused its terrifying stare upon them. 

Everil gritted her teeth, eyebrows meeting at the bridge of her nose. Its features were still morphing into a disfigured appearance as the demon took hold of his soul. Which meant that the creature was probably the mage who was screaming just moments ago.

“Ah, visitors! And Grey Wardens even... To what do I owe the pleasure?” Uldred greeted them, a wicked smirk over his aging face.

Scowling angrily, she looked to the handful of surviving mages who were tied together in a corner of the room. Crimson stained their sky blue robes and terror-filled faces, their bodies quivering as they pleadingly looked back at her. “You know, I was going to demand an explanation...” Everil said coolly, then pointed her sword at him. “...but I think I'll just kill you now.”

Uldred cackled at her threat. “Come now... No need to be hasty. Why don't you put down the weapon and join in our festivities?” He gestured to the three abominations standing around him, their blank stares focused on her party. “I can make you quite powerful, even if you lack the magical talents of a mage.”

“No thanks. Your little experiment ends here!” she replied, dropping into a fighting stance while those standing with her did the same.

“You think you can stop me?” He let out a slow, deep chuckle, then threw his head back as it turned into a maniacal laughter. Magic surged around his body, bursting from the ground beneath him. His hands reached for his balding head as he hunched over, the sound of bones cracking and muscles tearing joining with his shrill screams.

“You will regret not taking my offer!” he gurgled as he vomited blood onto the floor, his body shifting and twisting as he morphed into something else. “I will turn every mage in this room against you and smear the tower's floors with your blood!” His voice turned into a roar as scales sprouted from his skin, spreading over him as his face contorted into a vicious, animalistic snarl.

Everil's stare widened as she watched the man begin to grow in size. “Maker…”

The transforming Uldred screeched, his voice resonating over his captive mages and causing them all to scream in agony. They tried to move away from the maleficar but their bindings kept them in place, trapped, and within his reach. A strange, blue aura flowed from the ground around them, enveloping them as they squirmed.

“He's trying to force demons upon them!” Wynne said urgently, placing a hand on Everil's shoulder. “Give me the Litany! We must protect Irvin and the others until that monster lies dead!”

She nodded, grabbing the scroll from her bag and handing it to her. “Don't let the bastard notice you.”

“Understood.” Wynne ran to the back of the chamber, opening the scroll as she went. 

Uldred's body grew four times his size, towering over them as the abominable demon inside him revealed itself in all of its terrifying glory. A reptilian head replaced the human, along with its broad shoulders, powerful arms, and muscular legs. It threw its head back and released a massive roar that rattled the windows. It trained its blood-red eyes upon them and flexed its clawed hands, taking a step as the floor quaked under its weight. The three abominations around it began to move along with it, following its command.

Pushing through the fear, Everil searched for obvious weaknesses, seeing only the dark grey scales reflecting all light in the room. The monster appeared to be built rock-solid, armored from head to toe. It would be difficult to pierce its skin with their blades. Her head snapped to their mage. “Morrigan, do you have a spell that can weaken armor?”

“I do. A powerful enough fire spell can easily erode its defenses,” she replied, folding her arms while holding her staff. “However, 'twill take time to prime, and you will be hit by it should you get caught too close to the creature.”

“Use it.” Everil returned her determined glare to Uldred.

“Very well, Warden.” Morrigan took a few steps back and slammed the tip of her staff on the ground. “Just be sure to keep it off of me, please?”

“Of course. We'll distract it while you cast.” Everil prepared her weapons, glancing towards her fellow Warden. “Let’s take out the small ones first, then move on to the big one.”

“Got it.” He gave her a firm nod and readied his blade and shield, eyes focused on his first target. “Ready?”

“Yes! Let's go!” 

Bjorn barked as the three of them charged towards the approaching demon, the abominations much faster than their master due to its massive size. The Grey Wardens split up, each one taking on two of the enemies while the hound went for the third. Alistair ran in shield first as the abomination cast a fire spell. It bounced off his shield, the flames flowing around him as he cut through them, swinging and slicing its torso. It screeched and slashed with its claws, only to lose an arm when he chopped it off with another swing. 

Movement caught the corner of his eye as Uldred’s hand came to swat at him. Alistair rushed the abomination, running it through and knocking it onto its back. He landed on top of it, dodging the giant demon's strike in the process. It growled and then raised its arm for another attack. Alistair rolled, taking his sword with him as a giant fist hammered down, squashing the abomination’s corpse into a paste and barely missing him. 

Bjorn sidestepped out of a fireball’s path, running at the corrupted mage with his full body weight. He slammed it down fast, chops closing on its neck with a vise grip, tearing out its trachea as it gurgled blood. Meanwhile, Everil slid on the floor, kicking the abomination’s feet off the ground. She then whirled around and brought her dagger upon it, piercing through its head. She pushed herself up, looking over towards Alistair. He nodded from the other side of the massive creature, his eyes then shifting to it as he dodged another hit. 

Her attention then quickly shifted to Morrigan, who was still standing with eyes closed as she gripped her staff. Everil then gazed towards Wynne and the other mages, seeing the old mage was locked in chanting while holding the Litany in both her hands.

_ We need more time… _ She glared at Uldred as it slowly turned to her, clawed feet dragging over the stone floor. The Warden bent her knees and charged with a cry, raising her sword. The monster swatted at her, and she went low, still running as she dodged it. Her blades quickly clashed against its legs, only to be deflected by its hard skin. She clicked her tongue and docked again as it tried to grab her. She could hear Alistair attacking from the other side, his sword clanking loudly against the monster's scales.

It lowered its reptilian head, snapping at her with its maws and forcing her to retreat several steps. Everil struck again, sparks flying with each hit she landed. Her hound came up, pouncing on its neck, only to fall back down on his legs as his teeth failed to penetrate its flesh. 

Uldred slashed, trying to slice her with its claws as she swiftly avoided it. It began to cackle loudly, its voice coarse as gravel. “I know your plan, Warden!” It turned its head towards Morrigan, who continued to focus on the spell. “There is only one way to strip my armor.”

She froze, suddenly noticing their current position and that of their mage. Uldred had gradually lured them away from Morrigan, leaving her wide open to an attack as magic sparked to life around the demon. It growled low in its throat, summoning its power as electricity popped and crackled through its body.

“Shit!” Everil made to run to their companion, only to be backhanded by the monster and sent bouncing off one of the columns. She landed roughly, grunting in pain as her weapons clattered over the ground beside her.

“Everil!” Alistair called, running towards her.

“Don't!” she barked at him, stopping him in his tracks while lifting her torso with shaking arms. “It wants Morrigan!”

His wide eyes snapped to the creature, watching it open its mouth, sparks materializing within it as it aimed towards the defenseless witch. Alistair cursed under his breath, kicking himself into motion and making a mad dash towards her. “Morrigan, look out!”

Upon hearing her name, she opened her eyes, her gaze landing on the reptile's form as it fired at her. She was rooted to the spot, maintaining her focus on casting the spell, intent on beating the monster to the punch. But someone's back blocked her view.

Alistair took the hit against his shield, the impact making his feet slide back. The electric current burned the metal, lighting it bright red, the heat seeping through to his gauntlet. Behind him, she finished casting and flames erupted around the demon, churning upwards like a raging inferno. Her hands moved in a circular motion, wrapping the flames into a tornado. As the twister of fire intensified, Uldred's armor began to peel off, the heat eating away at it as the smell of cooked flesh filled the air. A bead of sweat slid down the witch’s brow as her mana was gradually drained by the spell. Her arms then spread out, dispelling the storm in one swift motion. 

Plumes of smoke escaped the demon’s nose as the flames died down. It fell heavily on its knees, growling low as its crimson glare remained on her. Morrigan lowered her hands, panting heavily as she and Alistair waited for it to fall dead. Its eyes narrowed at them, bolts of electricity crackling over its body as its jaws once again opened.

“Still alive?” Alistair stepped forth, ready to finish it when a crunching, wet sound reached their ears. Shock fell over the creature's face as it released a painful grunt. And then it fell forward with a mighty slam, revealing Everil’s form as she stood atop it, both hands around her sword after having impaled the back of its head. Bjorn also emerged from around the corpse, panting heavily **.**

Her eyes then moved to her companions while she yanked the blade out. “Are you two all right?”

“Yeah. I got here just in time,” Alistair replied, sending the witch a smug smirk. “Right Morrigan?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Do not flatter yourself,  _ Templar _ . I was handling myself just fine.”

“Sure you were…”

Everil sighed and shook her head at them before climbing off her perch, landing near her panting hound. She sheathed her sword as Wynne approached their group, a bearded, old mage leaning against her with an arm over her shoulders. 

She smiled weakly at the party as they came to a stop near them, glancing towards the old man with a weary smile. “Grey Wardens… this is our First Enchanter, Irvin.’

“A pleasure to meet you,” Everil responded, reaching for a handshake while inwardly relieved to see he was still alive. The remaining mages were also just getting up to their feet, all safe in spite of their bloodied and beaten bodies. 

He gently shook her hand and smiled weakly in return. “We cannot put into words how grateful we are. Without you, the Circle would have been lost.”

“You are welcome. Though we're not finished yet. We still have to convince the Knight-Commander that the Circle has been restored or we'll all die when the Right of Annulment arrives.”

The sage sighed tiredly. “Greagoir is not as unreasonable as he appears... Come. He will tell his men to stand down the moment he sees I’m alive.” As they began to walk he grumbled, limping on his feet. “Ugh… Curse the one who decided the Circle be held in a tower.”

  
⚜⚜⚜⚜   
  


The Templar reinforcements had just arrived by the time they returned to the first floor, all gathering outside in large numbers as they awaited their orders. Irvin had effortlessly convinced the Knight-Commander of the Circle's restoration, as well as of their victory against the maleficarum. Greagoir promptly allowed them out, relieved to see they'd survived the ordeal. Commands were given to the knights soon after. And the army of Templars originally summoned to kill every mage was now sent in to rescue survivors and eliminate any remaining threats.

The Grey Wardens stood by, covered in blood and sweat as the knights marched in perfect order into the dark corridors beyond. They gripped swords and shields as the metal of their armor clanked and chimed, their steps steady as a beating drum. Helmets hid their faces from view, concealing any fear they may have felt as they headed to battle against any blood mages and demons left standing inside the tower.

Everil observed them, seeing in them the true might of the Chantry's power. This was their army of faithful soldiers. Each of them willing to live and die to carry out their duties. Though, by Alistair’s stories of his time in the order, they were treated as little more than tools to advance the Chantry’s agenda. Trained swords meant to subjugate those who disagreed or went against their doctrine behind the pretense of protection.

Once the Templars were gone, Morrigan edged closer to her, speaking under her breath, “I believe I am finished with this place. I shall be waiting outside.”

“Very well.” The Warden glanced at her with arms crossed over her chest. “Take my hound with you. He's parched from all the fighting and needs a drink from the lake. Keep him company while I finish here.”

“Sur—wait…” Morrigan blinked and arched an eyebrow at her. “Did you just ask me to babysit your drooling beast?”

“Yes, I did,” Everil answered, grinning widely at her while reaching down to pet Bjorn's large head. “He's a good boy. He won't cause any trouble, I promise.”

“Ugh, fine…” the witch huffed grumpily, somehow unable to decline the infuriating request as she turned on her heel. “Let's go, mongrel…”

Bjorn simply followed, completely ignoring her glare as he trotted beside her. Both Wardens watched the pair leave through the front gates, a small chuckle escaping Alistair. “Do you think she’ll ever grow out of that bitchy attitude? Rhetorical question, of course. I doubt it very seriously.”

Everil hopelessly shook her head at him.

An angry voice then drew their surprised stares. “These mages shouldn't be left alive! There could be maleficar amongst them,” Cullen said to his superior, a haunted expression upon his features.

“Irvin has said the Circle is restored. I trust his judgment. There will be no more bloodshed,” replied Greagoir, sternly regarding the younger man.

“How do you know he speaks the truth! Blood mages can show you whatever they want. He could be fooling you!”

“I am the Knight-Commander here, not you.” Greagoir's sharp response left no room for argument as he called for another Templar to step closer. “Take him to the healer. He has seen enough today.”

The man nodded, patting his disturbed comrade on the shoulder. Cullen shook his head at his commander, then sent a brief glance towards the approaching Grey Wardens before they headed for the door. “Nobody listens until it's too late…”

With a sigh, Greagoir turned his attention towards Everil. “You have proven yourself an ally of both the Circle of Magi and the Templars, and I now hold a personal debt to you. While Irvin and I don't always see eye to eye, he is a good friend to me. I thank you both for all you did for us today.”

She gave him a solemn nod. “Of course. We couldn't just stand idly by and allow Uldred to succeed. However, while I know you have just endured a terrible attack, we still need help against the Blight. Would you be able to assist?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot spare any men at this time. But speak to the First Enchanter, he will be the one to provide you with the aid you seek.” He gestured to the old man, who was standing with Wynne a distance away, by the entrance to the tower.  
“Got it,” Everil replied, extending her hand. “It was a pleasure. Thank you for allowing us to help.”

He shook her forearm firmly, a small smile tugging at a corner of his lips. “The pleasure was mine, Grey Wardens.”

She and Alistair then headed towards the two mages near the door. “I said I'm all right, girl,” Irvin grumbled, trying to gently push Wynne's hands away.

She gave him a disapproving look, glaring at him as if he were a fuzzing child. “You look as if someone has used you as a punching dummy, Irvin.”

“So what if I do? I am not as fragile as I appear to be,” he countered stubbornly.

The Wardens stopped by the pair, drawing their attention as Wynne lowered her bloodied rag. 

Irvin gazed their way, a sullen expression replacing his prior irritation. “I heard about what happened in Ostagar from Wynne when she returned. I am... deeply saddened for Duncan. You have my condolences.”

“Thank you…” Alistair replied quietly. “I know he occasionally visited the Circle.”

“Yes. He was one of the few who held mages in high regard in spite of our... image,” Irvin sighed and offered them a grateful smile. “It brings me relief to know there are still Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Especially now.”

“Well... sort of. There's only two of us left.”

“Which is what brought us here,” Everil added, drawing the sage's gaze. “We hate to ask in such an inopportune time, but we need help from the mages against the Blight.”

He nodded firmly, clasping his hands behind his back. “While the Circle may be in disarray and many of us perished, there will be no safe place for our survivors if the Blight engulfs all of Ferelden. You will have our aid in the fight against the darkspawn.”

“Thank you…” Everil breathed with relief. They finally secured one of their allies, which was a great step in the right direction. But there was no time for a victory dance. There was much work left to do. “There is... something else we need help with at this time, however. Can you send a group of mages and large amounts of lyrium to Redcliffe Castle?”

“I could… May I ask why?” Irvin lifted an inquisitive brow.

She promptly elaborated. “Arl Eamon's only son has been possessed by a powerful demon. The creature holds the village captive and has managed to kill many innocents in the process. We managed to immobilize the boy for a time, but we need your help to defeat the creature and save what's left of Redcliffe without killing him.”

“I see…” Irvin crossed his arms and ran a wrinkled hand down his long, gray beard. “With lyrium and mages we can enter the Fade and eliminate the demon from within... Yes, yes… That would work. I will send the mages you need and I will be among them.”

“I'll come along, as well. It's the least I can do for all your aid,” Wynne said beside him.

Everil smiled at them. “Thank you both.”

Irvin gave a sharp nod. “I will organize what we need and head out as soon as possible. You can meet us at Redcliffe Castle.”

“Very well. Be safe on your way there,” she said and then turned to Alistair before heading out, leaving the mages to begin preparations.


	19. Alistair's Rose

⚜

  
  
  


_ E _ _ veril watched the tower as they sailed _ across the lake, the moon giving it an eerie glow. Right now, the Templars were fighting what was left of the demons inside it, cleansing it from evil while hopefully saving any who survived. She shifted her gaze towards the approaching shore, a troubling thought coming to her mind. The relationship between the mages and the Chantry was truly unstable. If the mages here had tried to rebel once, then it was possible others in other Circles of Magi over Thedas thought to do the same one day.

_ You can only oppress someone for so long before they turn against you _ , Everil thought to herself, recalling the desperation in the blood mage's eyes before she ended her life. It was only a matter of time before the mages sought to free themselves from their shackles. And when that time comes, even the Chantry with all its Templars will be unable to stop them.

As they stepped off the small boat, Leliana ran up to them, relieved to see them. “Thank the Maker. You were all gone for so long, I feared the worst!”

“You should know by now that nothing's ever easy for us,” Everil smirked wearily, then noticed a certain giant was missing. “Where's Sten?”

Leliana shook her head. “He was trying to find his sword—the one he arrived with when he came to Ferelden. Apparently, he lost it here in Lake Calenhad. I tried to help him, but he just walked off on me.”

“Please do not tell me we are about to set off on a hunt for the lost qunari after what we just went through,” Morrigan uttered wearily.

“All right… Let’s split up and search for him. We have to find him fast and head back to Redcliffe,” Everil told them, sternly addressing the group.

The witch sighed. “Marvelous…” 

They split into two groups, with Everil, Bjorn, and Morrigan going one way, and Alistair and Leliana going the other. They entered the woods by the lake, the light of the full moon filtering through the canopy of the trees and providing them with much-needed light. Everil pushed aside the foliage blocking their path, stepping through it as she called out the qunari’s name, growing increasingly frustrated thanks to both hunger and exhaustion. The woman behind her was likely feeling the same, as she irritably slapped wandering branches out of the way. 

“If the qunari ran off on his own, we should have just let him be,” the witch muttered moodily, searching through their surroundings.

“No. He was imprisoned in Lothering for a reason. I don’t know why just yet, but he’s still my responsibility.”

“You seem to do that often.”

“Do what?” Everil drew her blade and slashed through another bush.

“Take responsibility for inconsequential matters,” Morrigan said in annoyance. “Are you not a Grey Warden? Should you not be more concerned over the Blight than a wandering prisoner?”

“Sten promised to help us. I would say that falls under the ‘concerned over the Blight’ category,” Everil replied, sending a brief glance her way before calling out his name again. 

Morrigan shook her head hopelessly, following her while silently wondering why she hadn't just stayed behind to wait for them. There was silence between them as they walked, interrupted only by her yelling of the qunari's name. The Warden once again glanced over her shoulder at her, noticing how her cat-like eyes glowed in the shadows. She wondered if the woman was really human, or if something more lay underneath that beautiful facade. Was she really birthed by Flemeth? Was she maybe a demon too?

“Say Morrigan…” Everil began, looking over at the witch as curiosity finally got the best of her. “Is Flemeth really what she seems to be?” 

She raised a brow at the odd question. “That depends… What does she seem to be?”

Everil paused to think for a moment, then responded honestly. “A nutty old bat.”

Morrigan let out a small laugh at her choice of words. “You know, I often wondered this myself.” She sighed, smiling a little at her. “Tell me… Have you heard the tales they say of my mother? Those legends the Chasind tell their children to scare them into obedience.”

“I have heard some, yes. But I'm more interested in the truth.”

“I could tell you both the legend and what Flemeth once told me. Then you may decide which one is true. What say you?” 

“That sounds like an interesting idea. Go on.” 

Morrigan nodded, walking next to her as they continued to search for their missing companion. “As the legend is sung by the bards... It is said that Flemeth was once a young and fair maiden in a land filled with barbaric men—the desire of all who saw her. She was the bride of a powerful lord by the name of Conobar, who ruled over these very lands before they were even called Ferelden.”

“One day, a bard by the name of Osen arrived at the castle. Osen and Flemeth fell in love at first sight, and when the fair maiden tried to run away with her lover, Lord Conobar unleashed his ire upon them, killing Osen and locking his bride away in a tower. In her anguish, Flemeth summoned a demon, bringing forth the death of her husband and his people.”

Everil frowned at her. “Was that the truth?”

She shot her a disapproving look. “I am not finished.”

“Sorry…” She closed her mouth and continued on, listening to her talk.

“The truth is ‘twas Osen who was Flemeth’s husband, and Conobar the jealous lord who looked on from afar. Conobar made a deal with Osen, promising him coin and land in exchange for his lovely wife. They were poor folk, with barely any coin to eat, so Osen agreed.” 

“That sounds like a fair deal,” Everil said.

“Indeed. Or so t’would have been, had Conobar kept his end of the bargain,” she uttered with distaste. “Soon after the deal, Osen was taken to a field and killed in cold blood. Flemeth later learned of the deed from spirits of the Fade and swore revenge.”

“Was that when she summoned the demon?”

She shook her head. “No…’twas the spirits who helped her kill Conobar and his men. She did not resort to the demon until… much later. She was chased by his allies, you see, deep into the Wilds. There she met the demon. There she became one with it and it made her strong.” Morrigan smirked, almost proud of her mother’s resilience and power. “She killed everyone who challenged her, and there she remained in hiding until eventually, she became part of the Wilds, and the Wilds became part of her.”

“She must be… formidable,” Everil muttered with a pause, swallowing uncomfortably.

“She is, but she is no immortal. A blade to her heart would kill her just as any other, were it lucky enough to find her.”

Everil looked inquisitively at the witch. “Do you believe her side of the story?”

“I do not believe everything my mother says. Often I feel her bitterness has colored her memories,” Morrigan said, almost wistfully. “But I do believe her on this, at least.”

“I thought abominations were usually insane horrors. You saw them at the Circle… Can they even reproduce?”

“The key within your words is this ‘usually’. How often is this? Always?” Morrigan stepped over a root and then gazed at her. “I do not know if Flemeth gave birth to me, but she has always treated me as her own flesh and blood. I never questioned this. Yet regardless of the truth, the fact is that there is much in this world you or I will never understand.”

“That's true,” Everil sighed, glancing her way. “Thank you for telling me the story, Morrigan. I found it interesting.”

The witch chuckled. “You are welcome. Though my mother tells it with far more embellishment than I.”

A distant cry then alerted them, making them look in its direction. Bjorn growled and ran, charging towards it and leaving the women behind. 

“Bjorn, wait!” Everil called and went after him as Morrigan followed behind her.

They trailed the hound until they arrived at a small clearing, the dog stopping to bark at the two people standing within it. Sten was holding a man by his throat, effortlessly lifting him off the ground with one arm. His intense eyes glared coldly at him. “You dare defile their corpses.”

The man squirmed, struggling to breathe. “N-No…! I was only grabbing what I found. I ain’t trying to hurt anything!”

“Lies!” Sten drew the man closer and snarled at him. “You took their weapons and armor! And you took my sword!”

“Sten!”

He turned his cold glare towards Everil. “You.”

“Yes, me,” she replied with a scowl, stalking towards him. “Drop him. Now.”

Sten raised his strong chin, staring her down. “He stole what belonged to my brothers and I. He deserves death.”

Everil placed her hands on her hips, unfazed by his defying stance. “If you put him down I promise I will help you get back what he stole.”

The qunari’s gaze was locked to hers for a moment, the silence stretching between them. He begrudgingly lowered the cowering man and released his hold on him. The scavenger fell on his rear, a wet stain between his legs as he dragged himself away from the giant.

“Good.” She crossed her arms.“Now, explain to me why you ran off and why you were trying to kill this man.”

“This is where my brothers and I were attacked by darkspawn. They came out of the ground, killed them, and nearly killed me,” he said with irritation, trying to restrain his anger. “I… lost my sword here while in battle. Without it, I cannot return to my people.”

“Why is this?”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “The qunari are born into their professions. We do not choose our paths… as you humans claim you do. I was chosen to wield the sword, and was given the task to be the vanguard of my people. A member of the Beresaad. We came to seek information on the Blight, to prepare against it.” Sten shook his head and glared at the ground, his large hands closing into fists. “But if I were to return as I am now, I would be killed on the spot. Without my sword, I would be considered a traitor. A warrior without a soul.”

“I think I understand,” she said, then shifted her gaze to the man still sitting on the ground with qunari corpses lying around him. “Start talking. Where are the items you took from these men?”

He gulped. “I sold them to a dwarf in Redcliffe…H-He offered a great deal of coin for them.”

“A dwarf in Redcliffe? Was his name Dwyn?”

He nervously nodded.

She turned to Sten. “I know him. I'll take you to him and we'll take back what is yours.” 

The qunari gave her a silent nod of his head, his expression stoic.

Everil then eyed the cowering man on the ground. She couldn't exactly blame him for looting, she and her party did it more than once in order to get things they needed for their travels. But this seemed important to Sten, and he already had a hard time trusting her and her other companions. She needed to earn some of his respect to maybe get through that thick shell of his. 

Everil took a few steps towards the scavenger before lowering herself to his eye level, her expression severe. “I want you to leave everything you stole here today, and tell no one of these men's resting place. Do you understand me?”

“Y-Yes, my lady.”

She gave him a tiny grin. “Good. You are free to go.”

He scrambled to get up, dropped a bag full of items he had collected, and ran to the edge of the forest, disappearing behind the thicket. Everil rose to her feet, then reverted her attention to Sten. “Do you want to bury their remains? I cannot guarantee that others won't find them otherwise.”

“No. We can leave them as they are… I was enraged by the absence of my blade. My brothers will no longer need theirs. Their souls have already crossed to the Land of the Dead.”

“Very well.” Everil began to walk, gesturing for him to follow. “Let's go then. We can try to get your sword back after we have handled things in Redcliffe.”

Sten watched her head back the way she came, followed by the witch and the dog. He looked down towards his fallen comrades, their stares vacant while the scent of death permeated the air. They died valiantly in service to their kin, killed by the very enemy they were to study and prepare for. 

At least he still lived. At least he was fighting those they fell prey to. He turned to the retreating back of the small woman he promised to follow and his right hand closed into a fist as he went after her with renewed determination. He had her to thank for both a second chance at life, and for the opportunity to take revenge on the creatures of the deep that killed his friends.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

They left Lake Calenhad to seek out a good place to camp after having battled for so many hours in the tower. In moments, they set up their tents, the land still shrouded in relative darkness. The relaxing sound of a running creek filled the quiet of the woods, which they used to wash off the blood, dirt, and grime. 

After eating some of their provisions, the group retired to their tents, intent on sleeping the rest of the night away. Leliana took the night guard, one she would switch with Sten later on. She quietly sat by the fire, looking at the flames as they flickered. It was becoming more and more comforting to spend time around these people she barely knew. Both Grey Wardens had been welcoming of her, always ensuring she and the others were relatively comfortable with their limited resources.

Movement nearby made her turn her head to see Alistair emerging from his tent. He groggily rubbed his eyes and began walking towards her, his armor reflecting the light of the flames. He came to stand by the fire, seeking its warmth.

Leliana frowned, seeing the weariness on his face. “I thought you were to sleep until morning.”

A sigh escaped him as he reached out to warm his hands. “Sometimes it's hard to sleep with all the nightmares.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “Grey Wardens have such a burden to carry and see so much death… All of that must be a strain on your minds.”

“Yeah…” he chuckled wryly. “If only that were the only reason…”

“There is another?”

“Yep.” He smiled tiredly. “We have frequent nightmares because of our connection to the darkspawn, and they are much worse during a Blight.” 

“I see…” Her brow furrowed. “It must be disconcerting.”

“Yeah… It is.”

The two of them enjoyed the comfortable silence that followed for a moment, the only sounds those of the night animals and the popping of the coals. Until she spoke again. “What happened at the Circle of Magi?” She tilted her head, the red strands of short hair framing her beautiful face. “You all returned covered in blood.”

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, the memories not exactly helping his already tired mind. “Well... as usual, we ended up having to save everyone from impending doom. In this case, we battled abominations, blood mages…” He paused and then lifted a finger in mock realization. “Oh! And you can throw demons into the mix too. Those were fun.”

A hand flew to her mouth as she gasped, staring at him in shock. “The Maker himself must have shielded you…!”

He let out a weak laugh. “I don’t know if the Maker had a hand in it, but if it hadn't been for Everil we probably wouldn’t be here now.” 

“I wish I would have been able to come along,” Leliana said regretfully.

“Yes, we could have used your help.” He shrugged and smiled reassuringly at her. “But it all worked out, no need to feel bad about it. It wasn’t like you refused to go.”

“I know… Maybe I can help again next time?”

His lips spread into a humorless grin. “Yes, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities ahead.”

The flapping sound of another tent made them look in its direction. They saw Everil emerge from it, her hound in toe and weapons at her hips. She glanced their way with a worn-out expression, and instead of joining them, turned, and headed towards the edge of the woods.

“It seems she couldn’t sleep either,” Leliana commented sadly before poking at the hot coals with a stick.

“Yeah…” Alistair sent her retreating form a concerned look as she went towards the creek, disappearing behind the foliage.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Everil slashed at the air with her blades and swung a leg into a high kick, while her hound watched as he lay nearby. She pivoted on one foot and slashed again, imagining the enemy before her. That night, her nightmares had not been just about darkspawn. Her father's twisted sneer still haunted her, along with that of the rest of her family. She felt guilty for leaving them behind as the castle fell. Felt shame at not having been able to protect and save them. And felt rage towards the one responsible for it all. 

_ Curse you, Howe!  _ Everil slashed again as a cry escaped her. One filled with all the anger and misery inside her. “Damn it…” she bit out and stopped, arms dropping to her sides as a frustrated breath escaped her. Sheathing her weapons, Everil walked up to a fallen tree trunk by the stream and sat on it with a huff, her heart a raging storm of emotions. 

The Warden bit down on her quivering lip, fighting back the bitter tears that threatened to spill out of her. Her iron grip kept them in check as she refused to mourn her family. And after a few more intakes of air, Everil found herself trying to use the sound of the running water to calm her troubled soul. She silently marveled at the shimmering moonlight reflecting over the surface, almost in a daze as her mind drifted away into blankness.

The sound of footsteps approaching her from behind interrupted the quiet, but Bjorn’s calm demeanor told her they belonged to a friend. Whoever it was stopped beside her and then something red suddenly blocked her view, causing her eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

“Do you know what this is?”

Everil felt a smile tug on her lips and gazed up to see Alistair taking a seat beside her. He was still holding the rose in his hand, offering it to her. “Let me guess…” she answered, gingerly taking the flower while smirking at him. “Your new weapon of choice?”

“Yes,” he chortled, a goofy grin spreading over his face. Jumping to his feet he swooshed a pretend weapon in the air, slashing around as he spoke in a heroic tone. “Fear me darkspawn! I shall smite your ugly mugs with the incredibly destructive power of flower arrangements! Beware the thorns!”

Everil couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her, amused by his comedic antics. 

His expression softened, the sound of her laughter like music to his ears. He sat back down and casually leaned forward, resting his forearm on one leg and a hand on the other as he faced her. “Or… It could just be a rose. A simple rose. Although I know it’s not as exciting.”

“Are you... giving it to me? To keep it?” She blinked, a little unsure.

“Yep! It’s a gift.” Alistair tilted his head with a small, bashful grin.

“Oh…” A blush stained her cheeks as she observed the flower, admiring the gorgeous crimson of the petals. “It’s beautiful... Thank you,” she murmured, her heart fluttering at the gesture. 

“I, uhm…” Alistair cleared his throat nervously while leaning back. “When I picked it up on our way here, I thought to myself, ‘How can something so beautiful exist in the middle of all this ugliness and despair?’” He shook his head, casting his gaze to the ground. “I couldn't leave it behind. The Blight would have eventually destroyed it. So I took it with me…” A snide chuckle left him as he laughed at himself. “I suppose it was kind of stupid, now that I think about it.”

“Oh, that’s not true. Sentiment is a powerful thing… such things should be protected…” Everil replied dreamily, caressing the petals. She was tempted to take off her gloves, wanting to feel the soft, velvety things against her fingertips

“I’m glad you like it…” Alistair murmured, intently watching her profile. Her skin was a little flushed from her sparring as the moon shone over her, nearly making her glow while her lips still formed a smile. “You know…” He edged closer and carefully took her hand in his, drawing her attention back to him. “In a lot of ways. I think the same thing when I look at you.” 

“The same as the flower…?” Everil whispered, the tenderness in his stare completely disarming her.

“Yes…” He leaned in, gazing into her sky-blue pools, his heart pounding like a beating drum as he spoke through the nerves. “When I look at you, I see a ray of sunshine glowing brightly in the middle of the darkness. A bit of… hope and beauty still blooming in spite of the Blight slowly withering away the world around it. Like that rose.”

It was as though a flurry of butterflies invaded her stomach. The emotion in his eyes, the awkwardness in his nervous voice, the gentle way he held her hand in his—they told her he truly meant the words he spoke. No one had ever said anything so sweet to her before, not even the young nobles that often crowded her during her father’s parties.

Everil smiled tenderly at him. “Thank you, Alistair… That’s a very lovely thought.”

“Heh…” He grinned sheepishly. “I'm glad you think so. I'm not as good with words as I think I am sometimes.” 

“You did just fine,” she sighed happily and dared to rest her head on his shoulder, observing the flower as her fingers continued to play with the petals.

“I was hoping that would cheer you up. I noticed something’s been bothering you since we left the Circle.” He shyly rubbed the side of his neck, then regarded her with concern. “Do you... want to talk about it?”

She took a deep breath and released it. Her chest felt so tight again. So heavy. “I suppose… I'm having a hard time dealing with the nightmare Sloth forced upon me.”

He frowned. “What was it about?”

“My family…”

“Oh…”

“It just…” Everil sighed miserably. She normally disliked showing weakness to others, yet felt comfortable dropping her defenses around him. “I dreamed of them tonight too. It made me feel... very lonely.”

“I understand…” He smiled sadly at her. “But just as you told me before, you have me. It may not be the same as having your family back… and I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but I promise you can still lean on me like this any time. I’ll be here to listen whenever you need to talk. Or if you need someone to pick you up.” He chuckled and patted her knee gently. “After all, you’ve already picked my sorry arse up more than once.”

His words nearly brought her to tears, sparking a tiny flame that filled her chest with its warmth. Everything she loved was lost, but she was grateful to have at least gained something since this all began. She had someone like him. A friend she could rely on and who clearly cared about her. Someone who had her back in this war against all odds. A man who would swoop in and rescue her from her demons when she needed him the most.

“Like in a fairy tale…”

“Hm?” Alistair gazed curiously at her.

She chuckled playfully and grinned. “You’re like out of a fairytale, Alistair. You’re not only a prince but a knight in shining armor. I’m one lucky girl.”

He laughed lightly. “Wow... Most women I knew just rolled their eyes at me and called me corny.”

“Well, I'm not ‘most women’.”

“No…” He gave her a half-smile. “No, you’re not.”

A comfortable silence soon followed, filled only by the sound of the creek and the gentle breeze rustling the branches around them. They watched the water roll over the rocks, listening to its calming melody. For a moment it all felt like they were on a different plane. In a small island of peace at the center of a storm.

Everil closed her eyes and just let the moment fill her, enjoying every second of it. She took in his masculine scent, picking up hints of grass, dirt, and leather. Felt his body’s warmth next to her, close and comforting. But despite the serenity on the outside, her pulse was racing on her inside, joined by a strange, tingling sensation at the pit of her stomach.

Temptation urged her to touch him, to seize his lips with hers, and let him hold her in his arms. These feelings were the same she had towards Gilmore some time ago when their relationship had evolved into something much less innocent. She anxiously wore her bottom lip. If she was indeed falling for him, would she be willing to act on it? The two of them had a purpose that was greater than them. A task that could afford no distractions. 

And did he even feel the same desire she held for him? The same yearning. What if there was a lover she didn’t know about? He was in a monastery for most of his life, but that didn't mean there wasn’t someone waiting for him. He may yet have a woman, left behind upon being recruited by Duncan. There hadn’t been anything of the sort in his dream in the Fade, but there was no guarantee that wasn’t the case. So she wanted to know.

_ I need to know…  _ Everil anxiously licked her lips and willed herself to ask. “Hey, Alistair…”

“Yes?”

“While you were at the monastery… did you ever...” she trailed off, her courage faltering.

Alistair raised an inquisitive brow at her. “Did I ever… what?”

“Did you ever have…” She cleared her throat, feeling incredibly awkward before blurting out, “Have sex with anyone?”

He blinked in bewilderment at the blunt question, embarrassment burning his ears. “W-Where on Thedas did that come from?”

“S-Sorry…” Everil uttered, sitting up and bashfully turning away.

Her disappointed look told him the inquiry hadn’t been a joke. That her curiosity was genuine. Alistair wondered why she cared to know such a thing, but regardless of the reason, he figured it wouldn’t do any harm to oblige. “It’s fine… I just… Never had a woman just come out and ask me like that.” He scratched the back of his head, attempting to put the words together in a tasteful way. “I, uh… No. I never had the… pleasure. Not that I never thought about it.”

An odd sense of relief filled her and she pressed further. “So… There isn’t a heartbroken nun or a pretty Templar waiting for you back at the Chantry?” 

Alistair chuckled. “No. They were too busy hating me.”

The realization hit her then, her eyes widening a fraction as she repeated his answers in her mind. Their meaning was both thrilling and endearing, prompting a playful grin that slowly spread over her lips. “Oh, that’s so cute... You’re a virgin!”

“Cute...?” He echoed, unsure about whether to feel insulted or flattered by her choice of words. “Huh… I guess I should feel lucky it’s you saying that.”

Everil laughed lightly at his flustered expression, feeling a little guilty at having placed him on the spot. “I’m sorry… I suppose it would be fair if I told you my secret too.”

“Oh?” He gave her an expectant look. “And what’s that?”

She glanced at the rose, slowly twirling it. “I am also chaste.”

Alistair seemed to pause as his brain registered, his heart beating in his ears. So she’d never been touched by a man in that way. None have seen her body, felt her skin beneath their fingers or pleased her until the break of dawn. And he couldn’t ignore the part of him wondering what it would be like to be the first. He gulped, forcing the dirty thoughts out of his mind. “R-Really? I… I thought you and Ser Gilmore…”

“No…” Everil’s bangs swayed as she mournfully shook her head. “He and I shared some moments, but they never went far. He made it clear that I was his lord's daughter and that our worlds were too far apart for us to be together.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and released a soft breath. “I did care for him... and he obviously still cared for me. But romantic love was no longer a factor in our relationship when he... died.”

A hint of regret filled his voice. “I see… I'm sorry I brought that up again.”

“It's all right… It was a fair question.” She gave him a reassuring pat on the leg before rising to her feet. “At any rate... We should go try to get some sleep. We need what little rest we can get for tomorrow.”

“I agree,” he replied as he stood. Sleep was something he always dreaded now, but they had another long day of walking ahead of them. It would do them no good to fall to exhaustion. A jawn escaped him then, one that made his eyes water. “Ah… Guess it won’t be too har—”

A hand on his chest and a kiss on the cheek interrupted his mumble, drawing a surprised look from him.

“Thank you again for the beautiful rose, Alistair…” Everil murmured, lingering close to him as she gazed into his eyes. “Good night.”

“Good night…” he breathed out numbly, frozen on the spot as she spun around and stepped away, followed closely by her hound. His gaze shamelessly trailed over her retreating form, descending to her backside and taking in the subtle sway of her hips with each step she took. 

_ Maker’s breath…  _ he thought breathlessly, immediately wondering what it would be like to see her without that armor. To touch her. To feel her naked body against his. And he swallowed thickly when the impure thoughts caused his temperature to rise. _ Damn it, Alistair… So much for sleep now…  _ He blew out an annoyed huff, trekking stiffly through the woods in the same direction she went.


	20. A Child's Exorcism

⚜

  
  
  


_ T _ _ hey reached Redcliffe Castle after _ two days of travel, arriving a little after midday. Bann Teagan greeted them by the gates across the bridge with an anxious smile. “Welcome back, friends. The mages are already here and have been awaiting your arrival.” 

“Good. Has Connor caused any more trouble in our absence?” Everil asked as she and the rest of the group followed him inside.

“Jowan helped keep him sedated since you left. So no… nothing has changed, for better or worse.”

Jowan, Irvin, and Wynne were gathered in the great hall along with other men in robes, seemingly discussing their course of action. They all turned to them as they entered and headed their way. “Ah, Grey Wardens. It is good to see you made it here safely,” Irvin said as they came to stand near them. “Now that we are all present we can begin the exorcism. Jowan has already explained everything to us. Which brings me to say that I am glad you sought us out—” He sent him a meaningful look. “—as this is all partly our fault.”

The younger mage shrunk under his condemning stare, saying nothing.

“Thank you for coming all the way here to help,” Everil replied.

Irvin clasped his hands behind his back, regarding her with a solemn expression. “Perhaps you should save those thanks for after we have saved the boy, lass. Where is he? We will need to be near him for us to enter his dreams.”

Bann Teagan gestured for the archway to the family quarters. “Please follow me. I will take you to him.” 

They left the qunari to guard the hall with a few other surviving soldiers as they headed out through the passage leading to the east wing. The place was as haunted and cold as they left it, the demon's presence penetrating the stone itself. All the mages were visibly uncomfortable, shifting, and gazing about as if they could sense the evil growing stronger the closer they got to the child’s chambers. 

A heavy atmosphere shrouded Connor’s room, where he still lay unconscious, tied to his bed. Isolde was kneeling next to him with an afflicted look, her hands holding one of his. She gazed up to watch them enter, eyes filling with hope. “Thank the Maker.” She stood, walking around the bed to meet them. “Have you finally come to save my son?”

“We will do our best, Your Ladyship,” Irvin replied and signaled for his men to prepare the lyrium. A pedestal with a wide bowl was set at the center of the bedroom before a bright blue liquid was liberally poured into it. He then shifted his attention to the Grey Wardens standing near the door. “We only brought enough lyrium for one mage to go into the Fade. The mage will have to fight and vanquish the demon from within to save the child.” 

Everil folded her arms. “Can any mage go in?” 

“Yes, but I suggest it be someone with a strong will. Demons have a way of manipulating one's mind, especially those powerful enough to bring about what has happened here.” 

“In that case…” She regarded one of their party members. “Morrigan, you will go into the Fade. I’m certain you won’t be swayed by a demon.”

The witch lifted her pointed nose with pride. “A wise choice.”

“We will begin when you are ready.” Irvin joined the others around the pedestal, all of them preparing their staves and closing their eyes in concentration. 

“Be careful in there, Morrigan,” Everil said, her tone making the words come out as more of an order than a request. “While I know you won't be manipulated by that thing, you'll have to fight it on your own. Don’t take it lightly.”

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. All she has to do is look at it and it'll shrivel up like a prune,” Alistair mocked, crossing his arms with a teasing grin.

“Perhaps I shall try it with you first. Then I would no longer be forced to listen to your moronic comments,” Morrigan countered, shooting him a glare. 

“Now, now…” Leliana stepped between them with a chastising click of her tongue, as if they were two misbehaving children. “This isn’t the time.”

The witch waved them off with a huff, spinning about to go do her bidding. Meanwhile, Everil hopelessly rolled her eyes and watched her step into the circle of mages. “I mean it, Morrigan. Don’t underestimate it.” 

“Yes, yes. I heard you, Warden,” she sent her a smirk over the shoulder. It was strange to see someone so concerned over her safety. She still didn’t agree with many of her decisions, or her constant need to help the weak when there were obviously bigger things at stake. But at least she could trust her. And she even dared admit that her caring, yet strong personality was beginning to grow on her.

The mages cast their spell and the blue light of lyrium filled their surroundings soon after. Morrigan closed her eyes, welcoming its warmth as she was slowly sent into a deep sleep.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The Fade. Feared by most as the world of demons and the dead. It was a place she was used to visiting and one her mother taught her not to fear, but to respect. Morrigan was actually rather fond of it, as she found it interesting to explore, knowing it likely held secrets most wouldn't dare discover.

Her feet took her down a rocky slope, hearing the faint cries of a child. Staff in hand, she followed the sound, trekking past pillars of rock and bone as she gazed towards the distance. She noted the floating masses of land, glowing green and yellow as clouds of the same color churned around them like a brewing storm. Stopping for a moment, she looked over the edge of the island she was standing on, seeing nothing but a deep void below.

Shrugging, Morrigan continued to walk, following the child’s voice until someone's spirit passed her by, making her pause. It held the shape of an old, bearded man who was pacing restlessly. “Connor! Where are you, son?” he yelled, voice etched with concern.

“Ah... You must be this Arl Eamon the others mentioned,” she pointed, mostly to herself. The man was in limbo, unable to see her as he desperately continued to call out the boy's name. “The demon must have them both trapped here.” She gazed up at the trail ahead, which became an uphill climb, random objects from the castle floating about—a poor attempt from the creature to recreate Connor's world.

Morrigan kept moving, intent on getting this over with and returning to the land of the living. A small bedroom soon came into view and she stepped closer, prompting a child’s form to materialize beside the bed. Connor was humming to himself, staring off into space until she approached him and drew his attention.

“Are you here to play with me?” he asked innocently.

“I have no time for games, brat,” Morrigan replied coldly. “Where's the demon?”

As if by a flip of a switch, his face twisted in anger, surprising even her. “Then you came to take my father away from me! I won’t let you!” He glared heatedly at her before turning on his heel and running down the hill.

The witch sighed irritably and sauntered after him, knowing he had nowhere else to go but inside his own dream. Soon she ran into another, identical bedroom. And Connor again stood by his bed, humming to himself. 

“You little fool...” Morrigan went to him. “You have no idea what you've done to yourself and those around you.”

He shot her a rebellious look. “I'm warning you. Leave here now or things will go badly for you.” 

“I will do no such thing. Tell me where the demon is this instant!”

“No! I won’t let you take my father!” Frightened, he backed away from her and fled again, nearly tripping over his own feet. 

Morrigan clicked her tongue and walked with purpose this time, already sick of the games. He lured her further into his dream and to a wide-open area with arcane symbols engraved over the ground. He kept running, desperately reaching for a demon in female form awaiting him at the center of the platform. 

The woman’s body was nearly naked, with only golden thread to cover the peaks of her voluptuous breasts and a golden plate over her sex. She had fire for hair, the purple flames swirling in mystifying plumes like a hellish halo.

“She wants to take Father away!” Connor cried as he clung to the creature’s small waist, crying on her bare stomach. Her purple arms slowly snaked around him, holding him tightly against her. 

“You dare disturb my child’s slumber?” she asked in a seductive voice as Morrigan stood before her.

The mage scowled at it with distaste, completely unfazed it. “Release the boy, wretch.”

“I would watch my tongue if I were you, mortal. I rule over the very ground upon which you stand.” It narrowed its cat-like eyes at her. “The boy and I have an agreement. I give him what he wants by keeping his ailing father alive, and in return, I have my fun. I shall not leave here without obtaining what is owed to me in exchange for my efforts. So if you wish for me to release him, you must bargain with me.”

Morrigan scoffed. “Do you take me for a fool? I know better than to make deals with your kind.”

“Come now… Humans always want something.” The demon smirked, fangs poking out of the corners of her enticing lips. “Allow me to remain with the boy and I will pretend you killed me. I shall lie dormant and wait for the right time to take him and his town while you play the hero. In exchange for this simple request, I shall give you anything you wish. What say you?”

The witch chuckled at that, her amber eyes filled with laughter.

This earned her a growl from it, the smile fading into anger. “You find my words amusing?”

“No. Your pathetic existence amuses me. You are nothing but a low-level demon that simply happened to come across easy prey. Do not pretend you can grant me my wishes, for what I want can only be obtained by my hand alone.” A wicked smile spread over Morrigan’s purple lips as she slammed her staff on the ground before her. A bolt of electricity sparked to life around her, snaking about her body as it crackled and popped. It shot forth, the powerful current soaring towards the creature. It jumped back, dodging and distancing itself from the child.

“You…” the demon bit out, claws extending into sharp points. “You shall regret this!” She slashed at Connor, but Morrigan rushed forward, grabbing the petrified boy by the back of his shirt and shoving him behind her and away from its reach. She blocked the hit with her staff and then willed a quick spell, shrouding her in flames.

It jumped back with a cry and then began to split, replicating its image into copies of itself while surrounding both her and the child. Morrigan glowered at it. This was its world and it could use it to fool her. She would need to find the real one and kill it quickly.

But before she could pinpoint its location, the demon cast a spell and fired a wave of electricity towards them. “Watch out!” Morrigan threw herself over Connor as he screamed in fear.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Everil leaned against the wall, arms crossed while observing Morrigan’s still form from afar. Different scenarios floated within her head as anxiety gripped her. If she saw any indication that her friend would lose the fight, she would be forced to kill Connor to save both Morrigan and Redcliffe. It was not something that sat well with her, in spite of her earlier attempts to end his life.

She turned her attention to Isolde, who was nervously wringing part of her skirt between her hands, eyes red from all the crying. While she wasn’t all that fond of the woman, the image made her chest tighten with sympathy. Were she in her shoes, she probably would have gone as far as she did to keep her son safe. At least for the most part.

Leliana approached the arlessa upon seeing the nervous state she was in, placing a gentle hand over her shoulder. “Come my lady, let’s pray to the Maker. Perhaps he will hear our pleas.” 

Isolde nodded numbly and they walked over to the boy's bed, kneeling beside it before clasping their hands together. Everil watched her relax as she closed her eyes and began to repeat the Chant of Light. And she found herself grateful Leliana offered to come with her and help keep them calm.

“Don’t worry.”

Her gaze shifted to Alistair, who was standing next to her, also observing the mages. “I may not like Morrigan, but I have to admit that her little display of power at the Circle of Magi was impressive. She’ll manage.”

“I hope you’re right,” Everil sighed, once again staring at the back of their companion. If there was anything they both knew about her, it was that Morrigan was never one to flaunt skills she did not possess. She sent her in. Now she had to trust in her and in her abilities to pull through on her own.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Gritting her teeth, Morrigan pushed herself up from the ground, muscles burning from the shock she received. She rose to her feet with effort, scowling at the demon before casting another spell. Her hand lit up into flames and she swung, flinging a ball of fire towards the creature. It cried out, desperately trying to put it out with its clawed hands, then it roared and began to multiply once more.

“Blasted damnation…” Morrigan muttered irritably, searching for the real demon as it spread into a circle around them in a twisted game of three shells and a pea.

Connor looked at her with fearful eyes, moving closer to her. 

“What?” She glanced at him in annoyance. “Are you finally coming to your senses, foolish boy?”

He shuddered. “She's scaring me…”

“Good. That should teach you a lesson.”

“Give him back to me!” The demon's copies moved in, charging at them with arms ready to strike.

Morrigan swung her staff in a wide arc, releasing a wave of ice and mist that froze the clones. A storm of thunderbolts followed, hitting the icy statues and shattering them to pieces. Angered at being revealed, the real one lashed out at her, making her block with her staff. Mages were not good in armed combat, but defense was key to staying alive and she was trained on it better than any Circle mage.

It slashed at her again, this time with more force, causing her to stumble backward. It kept swinging while Morrigan blocked each hit, eyes focused on its movements as she was slowly driven away from Connor. She dodged a hit, throwing the demon off balance and producing an opening. She cast another spell, lighting her hand on fire and pressing it to its face.

“Ah! You whore!” it cried out as it covered its burning features, retreating away from her. The mage then summoned more fire, enveloping it in a blaze as it wailed in agony. It growled, setting its sights on the now defenseless child.

Morrigan turned to the boy, too far away to protect him. “Run!”

At her command, Connor nodded shakily, whirling about and scrambling to get away.

Its flesh blistered with the heat, blood oozing from its wounds as it dashed forth with a savage snarl. “I shall devour you now, mortal!”

With a smirk, Morrigan brought her hand up, summoning a veil of ice that quickly enveloped the demon. It halted it before it could reach the fleeing child, the sudden burst of ice immobilizing it. “What…?” It struggled to break free, hissing at her. “You... You used him as bait!”

“A trick I learned long ago...” the witch grinned proudly, and then lifted the same hand higher, willing the ice to spread past its neck and over its head.

Shock was etched upon it as it found itself unable to move and completely at her mercy.  _ This mortal is no ordinary mage… _

Morrigan closed her fist and the ice shattered, destroying the demon into a hundred pieces. She watched the fragments bounce over the ground, a wicked smile forming over her lips. To think this thing thought it could defeat her.

A pair of arms then hugged her middle, startling her as Connor pressed his face to her stomach. 

She arched her eyebrow at him, keeping her hands off him as if he were some contagious thing. “W-What are you doing?”

“You saved me, lady…!” he whimpered brokenly and pulled back to look tearfully at her. “You saved me… Th-Thank you...”

A strange warm feeling filled her when she stared at his big brown eyes, releasing a long, tired sigh. “You are welcome...”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

A slight whimper drew everyone’s attention to the child. He was stirring, his face scrunched up as the bindings kept him from moving his arms and legs. His mother placed her hands on the bed, worriedly looking him over.

“Connor?” she called softly, almost too scared to find out if it was really him.

Following the same thought process, Everil took a step towards them, tentatively reaching for her dagger. If this was the demon instead, then Morrigan failed and the task of ending it would fall to her. She bit her lip, watching him carefully.

“Mother?” Connor muttered groggily, his eyes fluttering open. He licked his dry lips and swallowed, blinking as the candlelight in the room disrupted his vision. “What’s… happening? Why can’t I move?”

“Oh, son… Is it truly you?” his mother probed further.

He seemed confused by the question. “W-Where’s father?” 

“He’s asleep…” Isolde answered, tears welling up in her eyes as she glanced towards the Grey Wardens.

“I think he’s fine now…” Alistair said, placing a hand on Everil’s shoulder and looking towards the witch. “Morrigan’s still alive.”

Everil let go of her weapon, her gaze going to the mages and to her friend before she promptly made her way to them. All were gradually awakening from their trance as the blue glow of the lyrium slowly dissipated. No longer held on her feet by magic, their companion collapsed, falling into her arms. 

“Morrigan!” she called out worriedly, carefully lowering her limp form to a kneeling position on the floor. She had sent her in, asking her to risk her life, and she’d gone without question. If anything happened to her…

“No need to worry, child,” Wynne assured her with a gentle smile. “She is only exhausted. A few hours of sleep and she will be just fine.”

The Warden released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, then returned her eyes to the arlessa. “You may release him now.”

“Oh, thank the Maker!” Isolde reached for the bindings, tearing them off of her son before hugging him tightly to her chest. Tears of happiness streamed down her face as she nuzzled his head. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry son…!”

Connor shakily wrapped his arms around her, looking over her shoulder to stare at the Grey Warden and the woman in her arms. His memory was foggy and he was exhausted, but for some reason, the sleeping girl looked familiar. And so did the one holding her.

“I need a room for her,” Everil told Bann Teagan. 

He smiled a little at her. “There are several empty rooms down the hall. You can use whichever one you please.”

“Thank you.” The Warden adjusted herself and leaned the motionless mage against her. She wrapped her arms behind Morrigan's knees, hoisting her up to carry her on her back. It didn’t surprise her how light she was, though the way her arms hung limply over her shoulders bothered her. Whatever happened in the Fade must have left her drained. Possibly due to casting too many spells to defeat the demon on her own.

“Do you need me to help you?” Alistair offered as both he and Leliana followed her to the door. 

“No. I’ve got her,” she replied firmly, pausing to turn to Irvin and the other mages. “Can you please see to Arl Eamon while I care for my friend? Perhaps what we did here helped awaken him.”

The First Enchanter nodded, clasping both hands behind his back. “Of course, Warden.”

“You can meet us in his chambers. I believe Alistair might still remember the way,” Teagan added, crossing his arms.

“I do. We’ll see you there,” he answered before he and the women stepped out of the room and into the hall.

Connor watched them leave, still clinging to Isolde while blinking his eyes sleepily. “Mother… Who were they?”

“They’re Grey Wardens…” she answered with a gentle smile, unsteady fingers tenderly brushing his hair. “They saved us all from something terrible. But do not worry about that, my dear. Just rest for now.”

He nodded numbly, letting her slowly lay him back down.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The chilling aura that once hung in the air was lifted, as if by magic. There was no longer the biting cold of evil or the threatening presence of the demon. Now, there was only silence. But that would hopefully change once the news of the castle’s restoration reached the village and what was left of the castle staff.

Everil and the others entered the nearest room, heading straight to the bed. She carefully laid Morrigan over it, adjusting her to ensure the pillow was beneath her head. She took her staff and leaned it against the wall before grabbing the fur sheets and covering her legs. She sighed, eyeing her one last time before turning to Leliana. “Stay with her until she wakes up, please.”

“I will.”

“Thank you,” she said, patting her shoulder. “And thanks for keeping Isolde from breaking down back there. It made the situation much easier to handle.”

She smiled. “Of course. I can do much more than just shoot arrows and stab things, you know.”

“Oh, I'm sure of it.” Everil winked at her, causing her to blush a little. 

Her eyes followed her as she walked past her to the doorway, where Alistair and her hound waited for her. They exited back into the hall, shutting the door behind them. With a sigh, Leliana craned her head down to Morrigan’s sleeping features. At least they’d made it through this and no one had to die in the process.

She blew up her bangs. “Well… Except for the demon, of course.”


	21. Arl Eamon

⚜

  
  
  


_ T _ _ he arl’s chambers were already  _ open when they arrived, the sound of quiet conversation drifting from within and into their ears. Alistair hesitated a few steps away, pausing stiffly. He hadn’t seen the arl since childhood, and although he was worried about his condition, a part of him dreaded seeing him again. What if he resented him after all the angry words he spat at him? What if he wouldn’t want to talk to him after all the times he’d thrown his kindness back at his face?

“It will be all right,” Everil reassured him quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder before entering the room.

He released a breath, trying to calm his nerves while following her inside. What was important now was knowing if he was well again, for his sake and that of Ferelden’s. His own worries were dead last in their list of priorities.

A sizable fireplace burned at a corner of the spacious bedroom, warming the area. Next to it, was a large window leading to a balcony outside, its crimson curtains flowing elegantly with the breeze. Furs were laid over the ground, while an expertly carved wooden wardrobe and a dresser were set against the walls. Some bookshelves and two chairs made up a sitting area off to the side. While in another corner was a cast iron bathtub, empty and nearly hidden by the wooden screen separating it from the rest of the chamber.

Teagan was standing grimly by his older brother’s four-poster bed and Isolde sat at the edge, a hand gently stroking her husband's gray hair while the First Enchanter examined him. 

“There is no longer magic involved, but the arl remains comatose,” Irvin said with a shake of his head, turning to the Wardens. “I cannot do anything more for him. I am sorry.”

“I see…” Everil sighed in disappointment. “Thank you for trying. Your help against the demon is still greatly appreciated.”

Alistair closed his hands into fists, eyeing Eamon’s still form from afar.

“It was our privilege to lend you aid.” The old man gave them a subtle tilt of the head. “Now, if you'll excuse us, we should return to the Circle. We have much to rebuild before we face the Blight.”

“Irvin… I have a request.” Wynne stepped forth towards the sage. “I would like to remain with the Grey Wardens. I believe they may need my assistance during their travels.”

Both Alistair and Everil sent them surprised stares.

Irvin gave her a conflicted look. “Wynne, the Circle needs you.”

“The Circle will be fine without me. The Circle has you.” She smiled gently, kindness in her blue eyes “And I can still help by battling the Blight from here. Why remain in the Circle, when I can be of better use elsewhere?”

“But this could prove too dangerous... Are you sure?” 

She nodded. “I lived a good life. If I perish in battle next to the Grey Wardens, then my death would be an honorable one. I have no fear.”

“Then if this is what you wish, you have my leave to stay and help the Grey Wardens.” He gently placed a hand over her shoulder. “Just know the Circle will always be your home, should you ever decide to return.”

Everil offered her a handshake. “Thank you, Wynne. We’ll definitely appreciate the assistance of such an experienced mage.”

She shook her hand. “Of course. I am happy to serve.”

“What about Jowan?” Everil asked the First Enchanter, noticing his absence. “Will you be taking him with you?”

“While he was once one of ours, he is a criminal here. He has been returned to his cell by the bann and it is up to the arl and his family to decide his fate. If he is sent to us by him, then we will do what is necessary to ensure he is punished for his crimes.”

She pressed her lips into a line. He had tried to seek repentance by helping them, but those he wronged may not be as forgiving as she was. “I understand... I wish you safe travels.” 

“Same to you. Be careful out there and do not hesitate to seek us out, should you need us again.”

With their task done, the sage gathered left the arl's quarters, his mages trailing behind him. Wynne followed them to finish saying her goodbyes and to gather her things from their carriage.

Once the mages were gone, Teagan stepped around the bed, approaching them. “It appears we'll need to find another way to help my brother.” 

“But how?” asked Alistair, frowning in worry. “Whatever that demon did to him clearly can’t be cured by conventional means.”

“The Urn of Sacred Ashes…”

They all cast their eyes on Isolde, who remained sitting by her husband’s side. “The Urn will surely help Eamon.”

“Do you mean the urn that holds Andraste’s ashes?” Everil inquired, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Isolde rose from the mattress, taking a piece of paper from her belt and handing it to her. “The ashes are said to hold miraculous healing properties. Surely they can heal my husband.”

“I thought that was just a legend...” She read over the document. “What is this?” 

“It is the address to Brother Genitivy’s home, my contact in Denerim. He believed he was close to finding it so I sent a few of our knights to search for it when Eamon fell ill. Some of them didn’t return, however. And those who did were searching through other paths that led nowhere.” She clasped her hands together, giving her a hopeful look. “It has been weeks since I last heard from Genitivy, so he may have new information on its location.”

“Is this the only option we have?” Everil asked, unsure about their odds.

“It is the only one I know of. I am aware that you have already done much for us, but Eamon—”

“We'll do it.”

All heads turned to Alistair. 

“We’ll find the Urn and save Arl Eamon,” he said with an unwavering tone.

“Really?” Isolde took a step, gazing between him and his fellow Warden.

Her question seemed to cause doubt in him, his expectant eyes going to his friend as if waiting for confirmation. Everil couldn’t quite understand why he was always so hesitant to make decisions, but she would help him nonetheless. So she rested both hands on her hips and answered sternly, “If Alistair wishes to go searching for it, then that’s what we’ll do. We can travel to Denerim and start there.”

That earned her a slightly surprised stare from him and a grateful smile from Isolde. “Oh, thank you!” she chimed with great relief. “Thank you both so much!”

“Then it is settled. We at least have some form of plan in place.” Tegan solemnly regarded both Wardens. “Though, while I know Eamon needs the Urn as soon as possible, I suggest you spend the night here. We’ll be holding a ceremony first thing tomorrow… For those we lost during this tragedy. I'm sure the remaining villagers would appreciate the presence of those who saved their lives.”

“Yes,” Everil agreed. “We are in need of rest anyway, so we appreciate your hospitality.”

“Of course. You and your friends may sleep in the vacant rooms you saw on your way here,” he approached her, gently patting her arm before gazing towards Alistair. “However, before you retire for the day, there is something I must speak with Alistair about. If you don’t mind me borrowing him.” 

He browned in puzzlement. “Me? Why me?”

“It’s important and I fear it must be in private. Can you come with me, please?”

Alistair glanced towards her with hesitation, unsure of what to do. But she put on an encouraging grin, urging him on. “Go on. It’s all right.”

He awkwardly rubbed the side of his neck. “Then I guess I’ll see you later.”

Everil watched him go with the bann into the hall, their footsteps steadily growing distant. She wondered why Teagan had chosen to leave her out of the conversation. But figured that if it was important enough for her to know, Alistair would tell her regardless. There were things she had to do anyway, though it would be strange not to have him with her this time.

“He has calmed down much,” Isolde commented quietly.

The Warden shifted her attention to her. “Do you mean Alistair?”

She nodded, biting her lip guiltily. “He used to be so rebellious when he was a child. I do not blame him, however. It was my fault he acted that way. I made his life so difficult…”

“So I heard…” Everil sighed, folding her arms. “But he doesn't begrudge you for it. There’s no need to dwell on it now.”

“Yes. I suppose there is not much I can do for him at this point.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“I… I can see the two of you are close, so at least he's no longer alone.” Isolde smiled at her and headed for the door. “I must go check on my son. Please make yourselves at home. It's the least we can do for you.” 

“Thanks…” Everil watched her leave and a soft breath escaped her as she made to follow. A light sparkle caught the corner of her eyes and she halted mid-step, curiously gazing towards it. It was a piece of jewelry, sitting over the nightstand next to the bed as it glimmered with the light of the fireplace. She etched near it and carefully picked it up, observing it with a hint of surprise. “Could this be…” 

The silver pendant had the symbol of Andraste engraved on it, with a medium-sized sapphire gem set upon its center. Both the gem and the delicate metal seemed to have cracks over them. As if they were broken in the past, but were somehow fused back together. She blinked and shifted her eyes to the arl. “You fixed it, didn’t you? You fixed it and kept it safe for him.”

As expected, there was no response from him, but his gesture spoke volumes about how much he had truly cared. Everil took the pendant and stashed it in her bag, a warm smile spreading over her lips. “I’ll return it to him for you... And when you wake up, you can speak to him again. I promise,” she swore and spun around to stride out of the room, leaving the arl alone in his deep slumber.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

A great oak door to the study opened before Teagan walked in, Alistair entering after him. The bann picked up the flint from the small table nearby, then approached a half-melted candle sitting atop the desk in the center of the room. He lit it, the flame illuminating the study along with the vast collection of books and maps lining the walls. While Alistair wistfully scanned the place, memories flooding his mind while he gently shut the door. 

“I had heard of the young Cousland's beauty and talent at social gatherings before, but now I find the rumors did not do her justice,” Teagan commented with a chuckle while stepping around the desk, briefly glancing his way before searching for something along the shelves. “You are a fortunate man. Even I would gladly follow her to battle if she asked.”

Alistair smiled sheepishly, nervously scratching the back of his head. “She’s a good leader... Worthy of admiration.”

Teagan sent him a knowing smile. “Yes. Of course.”

“Are you…” He cleared his throat. “Are you interested in her, Bann Teagan?”

The bann paused in his search, staring at him with light surprise. He released an amused chuckle. “Would it bother you if I were?”

“I...” Alistair’s jaw locked and his eyebrows knitted, his hesitant gaze dropping to the floor.

Teagan hopelessly shook his head at him. “My intentions towards her shouldn’t matter to you, Alistair. If you like her... If you care for her. Then acknowledge it and act upon it.” He returned to his search, still speaking to the young man. “You should know by now that time is fleeting... You mustn’t waste it with your self-doubt.” 

Alistair sighed helplessly. This man hadn’t seen him since he was ten. Was he that easy to read?

“Oh, here it is…” Teagan pulled a large scroll from one of the shelves and unrolled it over the desk, revealing a complete map of Ferelden. He pulled the candle closer and then rested his hands at either side of the paper, looking it over. “I brought you here to tell you that one of my messengers returned with news from Denerim—shortly after you and your friends left for the Circle of Magi. What he said was… troubling. Things are getting worse in the royal capital.”

“What's happening?” He stepped closer.

“Loghain has declared himself Queen Anora's regent. He has been trying to unify us under his banner in order to fight what he claims is not a Blight, but only a ‘large darkspawn raid’. But after what happened in Ostagar, the bannorn is enraged. They're demanding justice for my nephew and for Loghain to step down from the throne.” Teagan grimaced as if he’d eaten something sour, his distaste for the former war hero showing in his tone. “Of course, he refuses to comply with our demands.”

“Don't tell me a civil war is about to break out...”

“I’m afraid it already has,” he said somberly.

“Great…” Alistair smiled wryly. “As if Ferelden didn’t have enough problems with the Blight.”

The bann pointed to locations on the map. “The battles are mostly taking place in the open fields to the north. Near here, and here... So you and Lady Everil will need to be mindful of this on your way to Denerim, to avoid running into the conflict.” He gazed up at him with concern. “Another thing you need to be aware of is that Loghain knows you two are alive and has placed a bounty on your heads. You may want to avoid announcing yourselves as Grey Wardens while you’re there.”

“Good to know. Though I expected that.” Alistair frowned, regarding him curiously. “Why is it that Everil couldn’t join us? She sort of needs to know all this too, you know.”

There was a pause. “Does she know about your parentage?”

“Uhm…” He nodded awkwardly at the question. “Yes... I told her. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Sooner or later... we will need to bring order to Ferelden’s political turmoil. Which is truly what I wanted to speak with you about.” Teagan breathed through his nose, tension over his shoulders. This wasn’t an easy topic. “If—or when—Loghain is forced to step down, the throne will remain vacant and you—”

“No.” 

A stunned look fell over him.

Alistair nervously met his gaze. “Sorry, but I have no interest in the throne. Never have, never will.”

“But, Alistair—” 

“As a matter of fact, I think I would do a terrible job at it,” he interrupted again, smiling anxiously. “Arl Eamon’s the late queen’s brother. He would be better qualified.”

“What if Eamon never wakes up? What if the Landsmeet doesn’t agree to his rule?” Teagan pressed further. “You must think of these things, even if you dislike the idea.”

His spine ran cold and he swallowed at the possibility, what remained of his courage shattering into a million pieces. “Then find someone else,” he quickly insisted, stubbornly defiant. “Or better yet, why don’t you take the crown? You’re Cailan’s uncle too. I’m sure no one would argue if you stepped up to it.”

“Andraste’s mercy…” Teagan huffed, shaking his head in disapproval. “I must say… I thought you had grown into a sensible man. I am relieved that my brother isn’t here to hear you speak so shamefully. So cowardly.”

“What..?” Alistair whispered, eyes wide in numb disbelief. “What did you say?”

The bann sternly folded his arms, as if scolding a child. “You heard what I said. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Oh, but that is rich…” A humorless chuckle escaped him as he turned away, resting a hand on his hip. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he drew in a breath and released it, trying in vain to calm the indignation that quickly rose within him.

Teagan waited, silently watching him.

“How dare you…?” Alistair spun to face him, pinning him with a resentful glare. “How dare you try to shame me? You know I wasn’t brought up to be king. The very notion of it was forcibly kept out of me along with any hope of ever having anything of my father’s—not his love, not his affection, not even his regard for my pathetic existence.” He slammed his hands against the desk, anger and pain in his eyes. “I was cast out, forgotten, and ignored by him and everyone else! You can’t just expect me to forget everything I’ve been through, everything I was denied because of who my father was—how much I  _ hate  _ the way it shaped my entire life!”

Teagan eyed him with sympathy. He had been there when it happened. When Eamon was given a baby to raise and hide from the public eye. And he had heard years later of his brother’s decision to send him away, practically at his young wife’s behest. “I know, Alistair…” he said calmly, raising a hand while trying to appease him. “But regardless of your wants, you must understand that this is not something you can run away from. This is your burden to carry whether you like it or not, and you must be willing to make sacrifices.”

“I’m a Grey Warden, Teagan. I lost the only family I had when my brothers died in Ostagar. And I’m prepared to die fighting for Ferelden and for the rest of humanity. So trust me, I know all about burden and sacrifice,” Alistair replied bitterly, hands closed into fists. “And yes, I can’t run away from my blood… but you also can’t force me to accept it. No one can,” he muttered, then whirled around, stalking to the door. 

“Alistair—”

“We’re done here.” He slammed the door behind him, leaving a perplexed Teagan behind.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The village appeared to be in lighter spirits, in spite of the grim looks on their faces. They had already heard of their success against the demon that once occupied the castle. Now, they focused on dressing the dead for their funeral, laying the bodies in neat rows by the lakeshore as the fishermen built small boats to be used as their caskets. If the impending darkspawn invasion were not threatening the rest of Ferelden, Everil would be pleased to say they had nothing more to fear.

Sten and her hound followed her down the cliffside to the village below while she surveyed the damage caused by the last battle they held outside. Some villagers waved at her as they passed them by, others giving Sten fearful stared. She inwardly chuckled at their reaction. It was probably strange to them to see a qunari walking around. Most common folk didn’t even know they existed or how they looked like.

The titanic man didn’t make it any easier, however, his stoic expression and stiff posture were not exactly inviting. He hardly ever talked and often responded to queries with curt remarks, grunts, or groans. As if the action of involving himself in any kind of social interaction with her or anyone else were the very definition of torture. But one good thing she could say was that whenever she gave an order, he followed it without question. She figured perhaps it was the military training instilled in him. Or he probably felt he owed her for releasing him from the cage where he would have inevitably become darkspawn chow.

Regardless, Everil wanted to keep her promise to him. So she led them to where the villagers told her Dwyn's shack would be located. 

She reached up and knocked.

No response.

She sighed, before knocking again. “Dwyn, are you in there? I’m the Grey Warden who helped in the fight against the undead. I have something to discuss with you.”

“Scram Warden,” he grumbled from within. “I did my good deed against those things. I ain’t helping clean up any dead.”

“We’re not here for that. Now, please open the door.”

The sound of a lock turning on the other side of the door reached her ears, seeing it open as Dwyn's grumpy face poked out from around it.

“What do you—!” He quickly gazed up, craning his head up to the point he almost fell over, eyes widening as they met Sten’s cold stare. 

She pointed a thumb towards Sten. “You may have something my friend here needs. We’re searching for a blade that is likely four times as tall as you are.” 

He scoffed. “Well, I don’t have it.”

“A man in Lake Calenhad says otherwise, Dwyn.”

Dwyn gulped, brows meeting at the bridge of his plump nose. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“So you want to be difficult…” Everil turned to Sten and gestured to the dwarf with her head. “Sten, show him what a qunari can do.”

Sten took a step, drew back his fist, and thrust forth, punching the door off the hinges and sending it flying back, nearly taking the dwarf out along with it. Dwyn’s eyes trailed towards it in astonishment, fear slowly beginning to settle in. 

“If you don’t want him to do the same to your miserable mug, you might want to start telling us the truth,” Everil said calmly, staring him down.

“Fine, fine!” He stiffly waved her off, turning away to walk back into his shack. “Yes, I did own an unusually large blade at one point. But I no longer have it.”

She scowled at the news. “All right, where is it?” 

“I sold it to a dwarf who also sells goods in Orzammar. He sounded like he was interested in keeping it, so he may still have it. You’ll find him on the surface, by the city gates.”

“Orzammar…” she repeated thoughtfully and craned her head up to Sten. “That's the dwarven kingdom, northwest from here. I can't tell you when exactly, but we will be traveling there to ask the dwarves for help against the Blight. Can you wait until then?”

“I would prefer to obtain my sword sooner, but I will do what you think is necessary,” he replied stiffly.

“Thank you,” she smiled up at him, then sent Dwyn a smug grin. “Thanks for telling us. Have a nice rest of your day.”

“Yeah, yeah…” the dwarf huffed and watched them leave, relieved at not having to talk to her anymore. He grumbled obscenities as he reached down to pick up his door.

As they descended the wooden planks from Dwyn's house, Everil reached into her side pouch, pulling out a small bag that jingled with the sound of coins. She opened it and gave the contents a quick look. “While we’re down here, we might as well stock up on supplies for the next trip. I need more arrows…”

“You make no sense to me.”

“What?” She stopped and blinked at him.

“You make no sense. Women fighting is... wrong. Women are usually priests or cooks, they do not fight.” He scrutinized her critically, his seemingly permanent scowl deepening.

Everil had heard things like this before about her gender, but the way he said it sounded as if her ability to fight was just not supposed to exist. She gave him a quizzical stare. “Is that how it is for your people?”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean you don’t choose your own paths in life?”

He grunted irritably. “There is no 'path'. One is born as one is. You cannot choose to be elf, human, or... dwarf. You cannot choose the talents you receive upon your birth. As you stand now, I see it is impossible for you to be a woman.”

She raised a brow. “What? I can't be a woman because I fight?”

“Yes. Which is what puzzles me. What are you?”

Everil released a stream of laughter that produced yet another confused look from her hulking companion. She wasn't trying to insult the man, but she imagined his point of view on things likely made Ferelden out to be some strange world he could never hope to comprehend. 

“I'm still a woman, Sten. In Ferelden you have the choice to follow your own ambitions. For example…” Her hand gestured to one of the fishermen currently putting together a net. “That man can choose to serve the arl as a soldier if he wants to, or he can remain a fisherman. Just like I can choose to be a warrior even if I am a woman.”

“No… Becoming a soldier would just make him a fisherman turned soldier,” he replied, looking down at her as if she were stupid. “Why carry more weight upon your back as turtles carry their shells? You could fall over and never get back up, as they do.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “The way I see it, the shell makes the turtle stronger. Without it, they are defenseless against life’s many challenges. We are the same. We choose to do more because it’s what makes us more successful as both individuals and a society. We carry our shells to protect ourselves and our families, as well as to help others carry theirs.”

Her response made his brows go up. “Hmph… perhaps.”

Everil chortled and continued walking. “Come on. We should hurry before night falls.”

He released an agreeable grunt and they headed to one of the stores in the village, the sun hanging low in the sky.


	22. A kiss in the night

⚜

  
  
  


_ D _ _ arkness slowly faded to light as  _ Morrigan began to wake, her stay in the Fade having been extended by her dreams. She scrunched up her face and placed a hand to her forehead, trying to appease the dull ache. A groan escaped her and she slowly sat up on the bed, blinking her eyes to adjust to the brightness coming from the window beside her. She looked around, finding herself in a stranger’s room, the memories slowly coming back to her. 

“Damn that creature…” she cursed the demon in the child’s dream, her spirit still sore from battle. Still, she felt proud to have been able to defeat it with only her skills and wits to help her.

The sound of a door opening pulled her gaze in its direction as Leliana walked in. “I’m glad to see you have awakened,” she smiled, bringing in a small tray of wine, cheese, and bread. “I took the liberty of fetching you something to eat. I imagine you are hungry now, no?”

Morrigan gave her an awkward look but slowly nodded, taking the tray from her. “My thanks.”

“You gave us all a scare. It appears Wynne was right, however, you seem to be doing well.”

“‘Twas nothing. Entering the Fade in such a way is simply draining.” She took a sip of wine and made a face, her nose curling. Water was used for drinking and cooking in the Wilds. They didn’t have access to wheat for the ale or the grapes for the wine that Fereldan folk drank in its stead. Thankfully, her mother knew a few tricks to purify the water from parasites and other unwanted things that would cause disease. “Where are the others?”

“Alistair came by to tell us we would be spending the night here and head to Denerim in the morning. He also said Everil had gone to the village to run an errand, and that Sten and Bjorn were likely with her.”

_ She must be helping the qunari find his sword,  _ Morrigan thought to herself, popping a piece of cheese into her mouth.

“Also, Wynne will be joining us from now on.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “That insufferable hag from the Circle?” 

“Uh…Yes,” Leliana replied uncomfortably. “She came to check on you earlier, then said she would be in one of the rooms resting.”

“I see.” The witch ate another piece of cheese, still groggy from sleep. Leliana watched her in silence, her stare slightly unnerving her. 

“I’m fine now. There is no need for you to be here any longer,” Morrigan said coolly, her gaze still on her food. 

“Oh, sorry.” The other woman shifted, absently playing with her fingers. “I uh…will be next door if you need anything.”

Morrigan didn’t answer, sighing with relief upon hearing her leave. She placed the tray down on the bed and swung her legs over the edge to walk up to her bag. She rummaged through it, gingerly pulling out the leather-bound book. A slender finger traced the tree pattern over the cover, a small smirk tugging at her lips. Now alone, she could begin discovering her mother’s secrets. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Leliana entered her room, releasing a breath. Why she had expected any amount of conversation from her strange companion, she didn’t know. Though she wasn’t one to talk to a lot of people herself. Those in the Chantry hardly spoke with her, except for when they chose to question her views on its teachings. 

_ “What do you mean the Maker loves all?” one nun had asked her during their daily cleaning of the altar room.  _

_ Leliana gazed at her with a small smile, a broom in her hands. “I believe the Maker has love for all of His creation. Regardless of where His children come from. Else, why would He offer forgiveness to those who seek it?” _

_ The sister gave her a cynical look. “The Maker’s love is to be earned by His children. You and I, for example, Sister Leliana. We are giving ourselves to Him by serving Him as we are. Because of this, His eyes will be upon us for our commitment, and He will love us. Those people outside of the Chantry… They come to seek His forgiveness and His help only when their need is dire. It is not a sincere act of adoration. They are not as virtuous as us.” _

_ “I… don’t believe so. I believe His love for us is much greater than that. He would not demand more than what we can give.” _

_ “You are quite naive. We’re here to save their souls for that very reason. We are the recipients of His grace in order to give to the lesser children.” She looked up at the statue of Andraste with a prideful smile. “You and I, Sister. We are chosen.”  _

Leliana put her hand over her pendant of Andraste, her lips pursed. That same nun had refused to speak with her for days after. But she believed the same now still. If she hadn’t believed in that, then she wouldn’t have been saved by Him. Saved from herself.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Night fell, shrouding everything in its veil of darkness. Torches and candles lined the halls, their lights flickering against the walls. Thankfully, there were no longer shadows of the undead shuffling about. No demons whispering in the dark. The blood had been cleaned by the maids and lavender placed in every corner to mask any remaining foul scents as the castle aired out. As if the prior nightmare never happened.

Sten had picked a room to sleep in, leaving her to check on Morrigan with her dog. Everil approached the door and knocked. “Morrigan?”

“Enter,” she yelled from the other side.

She went in to find the witch sitting cross-legged on the bed, her mother’s book lying open over her lap. Morrigan sent her an annoyed look but gestured for her to sit on the chair beside her. 

“I see you’re feeling well…” Everil pointed, a question in her tone as she approached.

Morrigan nodded. “Yes. ‘Twas nothing rest could not fix.”

“Good.” She sat and swung one leg over the other, crossing her arms while Bjorn sat next to her. “Anything interesting in that book yet?”

“So far I have only seen recipes for potions and a few spells I already knew. But I am just beginning to read it,” she replied, licking her thumb before flipping a page. “So… did the foolish child live? Were my efforts worthwhile?”

“Yes. The child lives, and so does his father. Unfortunately, Arl Eamon is still asleep and the Circle mages were unable to wake him. That means we have to seek out a new solution.”

“Of course…” Morrigan rolled her eyes, then glanced at her curiously. “I take it you have one in mind?”

“Possibly.” Everil smiled wryly. “Would that book have an answer, by any chance?”

“No. My mother mostly focused on her own survival. I doubt she would ever bother with a cure for a comatose nobleman.”

“Heh, I figured as much.” She grinned at her and watched her flip through another page as her cat eyes sifted through the words. “Morrigan… Thanks for helping me save Redcliffe.”

The witch gazed up from the book, elegant brows wrinkled into a frown. “You are welcome. Though I did not do it for them, nor for the child. I did it for you. I could care no less about their sort.”

“I know… Does that mean you care about me, at least?”

“You give yourself too much credit, Warden.”

Everil chuckled as she returned to the book and then a brief silence fell between them. She figured they were growing to be friends, but it seemed the woman was always guarded. Like a defense mechanism to keep unwanted people at bay. Always lashing out or denigrating them to push them away. She wondered why this was so, but considering her origins, it made sense for her to be wary of everyone around her—friend or foe.

“I have a question for you, Morrigan.”

“I am hardly surprised.” 

She ignored her snide retort. “Was it lonely to live in the Wilds with just your mother? Did you have anyone else to talk to?”

Morrigan put on an amused smile and shook her head. The woman sure enjoyed discussing her way of life as if it were the most interesting thing. It was entertaining to see the wonder on her face when she heard of her mother’s magic and the Wilds. She leaned back, resting both hands on the bed while gazing at the ceiling. “I suppose ‘twas lonely at times...” she admitted. “Though I oft found ways to make up for it. I did not need the company of others to experience friendship, for example.”

Everil tilted her head. “Truly? Why?”

“Children have imagination… Anything is fun when you are innocent and carefree. I thought of the trees as my friends, ran with the animals as my playmates, and spoke to the wind as it howled in my ear,” she told the Warden, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. “‘Twas not a terrible childhood.”

“That does sound wonderful…” She pictured a small Morrigan prancing in the woods and smiled a little, a bit of sadness in her eyes. “I wish I would have had such an experience. My childhood was mostly filled with boring banquets, annoying pleasantries, politics… Though I understand why it had to be so, it wasn’t always fun for me. A lot of rules to follow. Many of which I didn’t understand then.”

“Oh, my mother had her fair share of rules for me, as well. I was not raised doing as I pleased.”

“Did you ever break those rules?”

“I did…” She sat up, letting out a chuckle. “One time… I was sneaking through the Wilds and making my way towards the edge of the forest, where I had spotted a traveling carriage passing by. ‘Twas an elegant carriage, with floral engravings and beautiful white horses. It had stopped for camp when I caught up with it.” Her hands moved to emphasize her story. “Inside the carriage was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. With golden locks that shimmered under the setting sun, and porcelain skin that glowed like polished pearls. In her hand, she had a beautiful golden mirror, with colorful gems encrusted around it. I was captivated by it… and thought that perhaps if I had that mirror, I could be as elegant and beautiful as the woman in the carriage.” 

“So… As I am a shapeshifter, I changed into the form of a cat and waited for the woman to be distracted. I snuck up behind her and stole the mirror before she could see me. I ran back to my hut, and to my mother, hugging it to my chest with delight.”

Everil chortled at the picture. “I can’t imagine Flemeth was pleased.”

“No…” Morrigan sighed. “My mother was furious... To teach me a lesson, she took the mirror from my hands and smashed it against the ground. I was heartbroken.”

“But… you were just a child.” 

“‘Tis because I was a child that I needed to learn my lesson. I had risked discovery, and therefore my life, over a pretty bauble. I allowed a foolish sentiment to rule over my judgment when such things have no real value. My mother always told me sentimentalism was useless. As crippling as an arrow to the foot in the middle of a battle.” Morrigan leaned forward, resting her chin on one hand while gazing at her. “Were it not for Flemeth’s lessons then, I would not be here now. As difficult as they were.”

“I suppose that’s true. They made you stronger,” Everil said with a smile. “Though I personally believe sentiment can be a driving force, rather than an anchor.”

“Oh?” She raised a brow. “Those are rather disappointing words to hear from a Grey Warden.”

“What? Why?” 

“Your duty is to defeat the Blight at any cost. And all Grey Wardens of the past placed their duty above all else, some of their actions bordering on the barbaric in order to defeat the darkspawn. I hope you will do as they did and take whatever actions are necessary, rather than allow useless feelings to get in the way when the time comes.”

Everil stared at her for a moment, not really knowing what to say. She wanted to save Ferelden but didn’t want to give up her humanity to do it. However, she took an oath when she joined the order. It was her responsibility to ensure the Blight was defeated, no matter the cost. She found herself hoping things wouldn’t come to choosing between morality and the Blight. But hope could only reach so far.

Morrigan took notice of her pause. “I see my words have left you speechless. Is your resolve wavering?” 

“Of course not. You’re right. My duty is more important than anything else… I just…” she sighed, rising to her feet. She was too tired for this conversation.“Thank you for the chat. I should probably leave you to your book now.”

Morrigan nodded. “Yes, please do.”

“Come on, Bjorn.” She summoned her hound, then waved at her, walking to the door. “Good night, Morrigan.”

The witch didn’t respond, instead eyeing Everil as she left the chamber. And then a smirk spread over her features.  _ Such an interesting creature... _

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Everil and her hound crossed the hallway to her chosen room and stepped inside, closing the door with a breath of relief. She proceeded to drop her weapons off by the bed, along with her side bag and quiver. It was dark, but the moon shone bright enough through the window to reveal some of the space within. It was simple, with a single bed and a desk, while some common Fereldan decor such as fur rugs and paintings decorated the place.

She shuffled to the nightstand and lit the large candle resting on it. A content sigh left her when she let herself fall back upon the mattress, her body beginning to cave into exhaustion. The hound jumped on the bed with her, nuzzling her hair and giving her cheek a gentle lick. The Warden chuckled and petted him, prompting him to curl up next to her with his head on her stomach.

It had been several long days of travel and constant fighting, and there were no doubt similar days waiting for them ahead. She began to think about what they accomplished thus far while staring up at the ceiling. The fate of the nation rested over their shoulders, and they were still a thousand miles away from having what they needed to put an end to the Blight. Many more towns like Lothering would probably fall prey to it by the time they gathered the support to face it head-on.

_ Lothering…  _ The sight of darkspawn indiscriminately slaughtering innocents haunted her. The screams and cries for help from the villagers in her ears. Their panic to escape palpable in her mind. It was nearly overwhelming to think about how many were likely dying as she lay on that bed. And she wondered just how much time they truly had before the taint enveloped all of Ferelden.

“Maker... I hope we can do this,” she murmured to herself. Doubt filled her, and Morrigan’s words made her question if she had what was necessary to accomplish their impossible task. If she possessed the same unwavering commitment Duncan carried when they met. __

Everil closed her eyes, her mind filled with uncertainty.  _ Mother, Father… I wish you were here to guide me… _

And then a soft knock was heard, interrupting her troubled thoughts.

She sat up with a groan, weary muscles protesting after having had the brief opportunity to finally rest. 

“Just a moment…” she called while pushing herself to stand. Her feet shuffled to the door and she rotated her shoulders before reaching for the handle. When she opened it, a smiling Alistair was standing behind it, casually resting an arm on the frame and a fist at his hip.

“Hey, so you  _ are _ back,” he greeted cheerfully.

“Yes, I am.” She tiredly returned his smile. “Why? Were you waiting expectantly for my return?”

“Maybe a little,” he teased. “I told one of the guards to let me know when you came back to the castle. May I come in? Grey Warden business.” 

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” he chirped, entering the room.

“I thought you were still with Bann Teagan.” Everil shut the door and turned to face him. “Whatever it was he wanted to speak with you about sounded truly important.” 

“He just wanted to discuss Ferelden’s situation with me,” Alistair replied, folding his arms. “Here’s the first piece of good news… Ready?”

She mimicked his pose. “Shoot.”

“Loghain knows we're alive and has placed a bounty on our heads.” He grinned sarcastically. “Don't you feel special?”

“Yes... How nice of him,” Everil uttered helplessly, already annoyed. “I knew that would happen… We probably shouldn't have spared his knight's life in Lothering, but I imagine he would have found out eventually anyway.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that.” A disgusted scowl dawned on him, that familiar hatred for the man who betrayed them burning inside him. “He wouldn't want us spreading his dirty little secret, after all. Of course, that also means we have to be extra careful when visiting towns and villages going forward. I doubt they have pictures of us, but all they need to do is look at our armor to pick us out from the crowd. He probably didn't even target us individually, just ordered the bounty on all Grey Wardens that may wander into Ferelden's lands.”

“Yeah… I think you may be right about that. Any man in his shoes might be paranoid enough to be that desperate.” She knitted her eyebrows, regarding him warily. “What else did you find out?”

“All right, here's the second piece of good news.” He blew out a breath. “There's a civil war raging in the Bannorn. Some of the nobles want to force Loghain off the throne. Which I think is a good thing, but... Well… All the fighting may make our efforts against the Blight a little more difficult. If that’s even possible.”

“Oh… Yes. That'll be a problem. And not just for us. They will all be so busy killing each other, they won't even see the darkspawn coming.” Everil shook her head, resting a hand on her hip. “We’ll deal with it. Just like with everything else. So... is there a reason why I couldn’t join you in the conversation?”

“Teagan didn’t know you knew who my father was, so he was being cautious. He brought up the throne thing… tried to force it on me...” He trailed off and put on a grin, trying not to show how shaken he still was. “But I shut him down quickly. No big deal.” 

The strain in his voice earned him a concerned look as Everil sensed his discomfort. “Are you sure? It certainly doesn’t sound like it was ‘no big deal’ to me.”

“Yeah… Let’s just say I’m not used to being put down over my parentage. Oh, wait…” Alistair gasped mockingly. “Yes, I am! How stupid of me to forget.”

“He what?” she asked, a bit surprised. “What did he say?”

“According to him—” He counted with his fingers. “—I’m a coward, I’m irresponsible, and I’m a disappointment. Nothing I haven’t heard before, but pretty upsetting nonetheless.”

“I’m sorry… I’m sure he was just trying to do the right thing.”

“Sure. The right thing for everyone but me, as usual. Seems old habits die hard around here.” Alistair chuckled wryly, the uncomfortable topic prompting him to change the subject. “At any rate, that’s not all I wanted to tell you. I… also wanted to thank you.”

“What for?” Everil tilted her head. 

“For saving the arl’s family…” he replied quietly, taking a step closer while relaxing his arms. “You could have taken the easy way out and killed Connor, but chose not to.”

A corner of her mouth curled, her tone hinted with guilt. “I was going to at one point, remember?”

“But you didn't, and it’s thanks to that that the arl won't have more death to grieve over when he wakes up.” He offered her a grateful smile. “I guess what I'm trying to say is that this felt personal. I owe the arl a lot and saving his wife and son feels like a first step towards repaying him for everything he did for me.”

“You’re welcome… Though there really is no need to thank me. You played a hand in it too.”

“Heh… I guess you're right. It does feel good to finally be able to save something after having seen so much death over the last couple of days. We have to celebrate the small victories, right?” 

Everil laughed a little. “Right.”

“Anyway... That's all I wanted to say.” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling sheepish under her gentle stare. He cleared his throat. “Uhm… I should go and get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Hold on,” she called, patting his arm before heading over to her things. “I actually found something I wanted to give you.” Everil pulled a small item from one of the pockets and held it in a closed fist before once again approaching him. “Give me your hand.”

Alistair eyed her curiously but complied with her request. She turned his hand over and slowly opened her fingers over it. A thick silver chain flowed from her to him, along with something a little heavier. When she pulled away, a pendant stared back at him, the jewel at the center reflecting the light of the candle nearby. He froze, immediately recognizing it. “This is…”

She smiled warmly. "Yes. It’s your mother’s amulet.”

“I... I thought I lost this forever…” he stammered incredulously, unable to keep the emotion from his voice. “Why isn’t it broken? Where did you find it?” 

“It was in the arl’s nightstand. I think he may have fixed it for you.”

“I... guess he did.” A knot formed inside his throat, his heart heavy as memories of the times when Eamon tried to talk to him in the monastery flooded in, followed by his adamant refusal to see him. Suddenly, he felt like an idiot. Like a foolish brat who back then thought only of himself when the arl had no doubt been hurting as well. 

“See? He still cares about you,” Everil said as if reading his thoughts. “And I'm sure he'll be glad to see you again when he wakes.”

At that moment, he realized what she'd just done for him. There were no memories of his mother—no kisses, hugs, lullabies, nor portraits—only a few stories told to him by the arl throughout his youth. All he'd ever known and felt of the woman who birthed him had been this pendant. A memento he used to hold tightly whenever he struggled with her absence. The biggest regret of his life had been throwing it away in his anger—made worse every time it seemed everyone abandoned him. Now it was once again in his possession, and the familiar weight returned to him that comforting feeling he so missed.

A concerned voice reached him. “Alistair? Are you all right?”

“Yeah… I just…” His eyes softened and he smiled sadly at her. “I can't believe you remembered. I'm more used to people not listening to what I say.”

“Of course I remembered.” She gently took the necklace from him, stepping nearer before delicate hands unraveled the chain and slid it over his head. Her gaze met his as lithe fingers touched the pendant, her palm pressed to the griffons spreading their wings over his breastplate. “You're special to me…”

Alistair searched those sky blue orbs, finally finding in their depths the truth about his feelings for her. Yes, he ached to kiss those alluring lips. Yes, he craved to hold her in his arms. And yes, he yearned to explore every inch of those tempting curves. But the warmth filling him spoke of something far more meaningful than all those things.

“Everil...” he whispered, intently tracing her features.

“Yes...?” She tilted her head, palm still over his now pounding heart.

“I know... we haven't known each other for very long. And that... this may be because of all we’ve been through together... but…” He swallowed nervously, unsteady hands coming to rest over her arms. “I have grown to care for you… A great deal.”

Heat rose to her face at his confession, and she found herself captivated by his amber eyes. Everything went silent around them. And all she could hear were his heartfelt words.

“And I was wondering if…” Alistair gradually leaned closer, their noses almost touching. “If you… would ever feel the same way about me.”

For a second, Everil couldn't speak, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering in a crazed frenzy. Happiness filled her, but fear also reared its ugly head when Morrigan's words again drifted into her mind. Should she give in to these feelings? Would it be worth the risk considering they were both bound by their duty as Grey Wardens? She attempted to reason with her emotions.

This man had been with her through thick and thin, from the very beginning, without question. He'd fought alongside her. Shown her what it was like to have someone to depend on when all seemed lost. To the point where she trusted no one more than him. So if their oath—or anything else—were to ever force them apart, she was confident that at least they would still be there for each other. And to her, that was enough.

“I think...” Her voice came as nearly a whisper. “I think I already do…”

Alistair grinned lightly, a little relieved by her answer. “So… does that mean that you wouldn't mind if I kissed you?”

“Yes… I wouldn't mind...” she replied with a tiny smile of her own.

Slowly, he pressed his lips to hers, shy and uncertain at first. While Everil returned the kiss ever so gently. 

Her arms snaked around his neck, silently inviting him to kiss her again. And again. And the more those lips lingered over his, the greater his thirst became until he could take no more. He wanted to taste her. To drink more of this spring and finally quench his thirst after having dreamed of it for too long. 

A bold hand went to the small of her back and he pulled her flush against him, drawing a gasp that granted him entrance to the moist warmth within her mouth. His tongue explored her depths as she did his, a heavy breath escaping his nose as his fingertips came to lace through her chocolate locks.

She breathlessly drowned in their kiss, her temperature rising to a boiling point. The way his hungry lips and wet tongue moved against hers spoke of inexperience, yet his raw passion took hold of her, clouding her senses and stripping her of all thought. She felt a knot tighten between her legs and moaned, yearning to let him do with her whatever he wanted.

The sound of her pleasure pulled at his restraints as he continued to bask in the taste of her. To savor those rosy petals that beckoned him many times before. Oh, how he wished for her to moan again. To maybe even call out his name. But in spite of the growing pressure inside his trousers, what was left of his reason yanked him out of the fog of lust, putting a halt to his body's hunt for release. It took all of his will power to break away from her now flushed lips, the loss filling him with disappointment, while he told himself now was not the time. 

Alistair leaned his forehead against hers, his breaths fast and heavy. “That... That wasn't too soon was it?”

She shook her head, her heart threatening to break out of its cage. “I… I actually can’t wait for you to do it again...”

Alistair chuckled deeply, gently stroking her scar with his thumb. “Hm… I can arrange for that soon…” His stare remained hinted with lust as it took in her blushing face and her parted mouth. “Maker's breath, but you're beautiful... I'm a very lucky man.”

She smiled in a daze, leaning into his touch. Andraste, how she wished he hadn’t stopped. That he'd laid with her and held her through the night. But it seemed he wasn’t ready—and if Everil were honest with herself—she wasn’t prepared either.

He released a deep, quivering breath and reluctantly withdrew, hands coming to rest behind her elbows. Another chortle escaped him. “I... should probably leave... before I lose control and give in to the dirty thoughts in my head.”

She laughed a little. “All right…”

“Good night...” He leaned in, this time pressing a chaste kiss to her other cheek.

“Night…” Everil whispered, watching him head for the door. Alistair gave her one last glance before opening it, then stepped out, disappearing into the hallway. She stared wistfully after him, a hand over her bosom as her pulse still drummed in her ears.

Now standing in the gratefully empty hall, Alistair released a drawn-out huff, trying to calm his racing heart and allow his body to cool. He hadn’t expected this to happen before walking into her room, but by the Maker, was he grateful he came and finally found the nerve to tell her how he felt. Another breath escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair, his arousal finally ebbing away enough for him to move comfortably. He made to walk towards his room, only to pause when he noticed a man was heading towards him.

“By that look on your face, I see that I am too late,” Teagan joked with a smirk, stopping a few feet from him and folding his arms.

The Warden didn’t care that he was grinning ear to ear like an idiot when he approached him. “Like you ever had a chance,” he quipped, patting the bann’s shoulder while passing him by. His prior irritation was now gone, their earlier argument completely forgiven. All thanks to a certain brunette. “Have a nice night, Teagan.”

“You too, Alistair,” he chuckled, turning to watch him go. He shook his head at the younger man and continued on his stroll to his chambers, a content smile on his lips. At least he'd listened to him on this.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The sun rose over the tranquil waters of Lake Calenhad, showering it with its golden rays. But the beauty of the morning was overshadowed by the sadness and grief that remained over Redcliffe Village. Many were gathered at the docks—knights, soldiers, families, and clerics—all survivors of the horrible attacks that took away their loved ones mere days ago. A few volunteers helped set up the boats, placing in them the bodies of the men, women, and children who didn't make it. 

They were cast from the shore, one by one sent to drift aimlessly into the horizon as those they left behind wept at their departure. Among them, the Grey Wardens stood by the arl's family, solemnly watching the ceremony as the breeze lifted their cloaks. Their party had remained in the castle at Everil's request, thinking that perhaps it was best to keep the presence of strangers at a minimum out of respect for the mourning.

“It's very fortunate Connor doesn't remember a thing about any of this,” Teagan said quietly to the Wardens, hands clasped at his back while sending a sad look towards the boy. He was standing a few steps away, holding the hand of his crestfallen mother while sullenly observing those around him.

“What did you tell him really happened?” Alistair inquired with arms crossed, his voice just as silent.

“That we were attacked by evil creatures you vanquished. I didn't elaborate further.”

“I suppose that's not far from the truth…” Everil sighed, looking on towards the parting boats. 

The snap of bowstrings sounded out as archers released flaming arrows, setting the bodies aflame. A man sung a soft song about lost souls as the gentle melody of a lute joined him, doing little to drown out the wails. Slowly, the flames floated into the distance, the numbers so great that what was visible of the lake was filled with small lights as gentle plumes of smoke rose to the skies.

“This is all Loghain’s fault. If he hadn’t sent that blood mage…” Alistair muttered, angrily closing a fist upon seeing the true extent of the tragedy that befell what was briefly his hometown. It was true there were many factors at play. From the arlessa’s need to protect her son to the boy’s careless deal with a demon to save his father. But the teyrn had taken advantage of a mage’s desperation in an attempt to eliminate a perceived enemy, while also dragging the rest of Redcliffe into his plot. Whatever games he was playing, they needed to stop him.

“He will answer for what he’s done soon enough. Let’s first focus on growing our army and saving the arl,” Everil assured him, narrowing her eyes at the heartbreaking scene before them. “Once we have what we need, then we can bring justice upon him.”

“Right…” He nodded firmly, a scowl over his face. 

The time couldn't come fast enough.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Once the funeral was over, both Grey Wardens and their party were accompanied out of the castle by the bann. They paused by the gates, facing each other while horses were brought to them by a couple of servants. “The trip to Denerim will be too long on foot and Redcliffe’s horses are said to be the fastest in Ferelden,” Teagan told them, a hand extended to the animals. “These are a few of the ones that survived the demon’s ire here in the castle. Consider them a gift for saving our people and my family.”

There were six horses, one for each of them, all brown Ferelan Forders bred for the arl's mounted knights. Much like mabari hounds, horses were not cheap in Ferelden and only nobles and their knights could afford them. That he was willing to give them so many spoke not only of Arl Eamon's wealth and power but of his brother’s great trust and willingness to help them.

Alistair smiled at him. “They'll definitely make things easier on us… especially carrying our camping equipment. Thank you, Teagan.”

He gave him a teasing look. “I hope you remember how to ride one.”

“I'll do my best. If anything I have friends here who can scrape me off the ground,” Alistair jested with a grin, using his thumb to point behind him at their companions. He received a mixture of chuckles and eye-rolls in return.

“So I see,” Teagan let out a light laugh before regarding the other Warden. “At any rate, I can imagine Eamon's support in the Landsmeet was not all you sought when you first arrived here. I know coin is scarce for you at this time. So I want to give you this…” He pulled a bag of sovereigns from his waist and placed it on her hands, the weight of it making them nearly sink. “Use it for whatever you need. My brother may be ill right now, but I will do all I can to help in your efforts to stop the Blight.”

Everil blinked, looking at the pouch with surprise. With this much coin they could afford any gear they needed, along with food and perhaps board on some towns. “This is very generous of you, Bann Teagan. You have our gratitude.” She grinned gratefully at him. “And we hope to bring good news about the Urn next time we come to Redcliffe.”

He nodded. “It’s the least I can do for all you’ve done for us. I wish you all safe travels. We’ll be waiting eagerly for your return.”

“All right, everyone!” Everil faced her party while tying the bag to her belt. “Pick your horses. We have a long trip ahead of us.” 

She went to the closest mount, gently petting its nose before climbing onto its saddle with ease. Her fellow Warden followed suit while the rest of the group did the same. And then she was leading the way once more, galloping across the bridge with Bjorn beside her and Alistair riding close behind her. They were followed by the witch, the mage, the qunari, and the Chantry sister—all heading out of Redcliffe and northeast to Ferelden’s royal capital. Denerim.

  
  
  



End file.
